Scar Tissue
by fawkes21
Summary: In the aftermath of his time in the box, what lengths will Nick go to in order to escape his demons?
1. The Scars You Never Show

_Author's Note:_ This endeavor comes at the request of Mma63, who wrote me one of the kindest emails I have ever received. Your email touched me and inspired me to get back into writing. I have let my writing slide due to the heavy workload at school, but how could I say no to such an amazing request? I really love reviews (though if you have criticism please make it constructive!) and it is those words that keep me inspired when I think the story is going nowhere. I own nothing pertaining to CSI, so for the love of God don't sue me – I can't afford to pay you

* * *

_Now it's over_

_These are the scars you never show_

_There was a warning sign, you know_

_One day you're near and then you go_

("Fire Sign" by David Berkeley)

* * *

He couldn't remember how long he had been lying there. Had it been minutes, or was it hours? For all he knew, it could have been days. He was slowly becoming reacquainted with his surroundings. He could touch the rough, icy linoleum under his palm. He could hear every hum and shudder of the pipes that ran underneath the floor. He could taste the acrid remnants of too-old coffee on his lips. He could smell the traces of watered down Lysol that was intended to cover up the bacteria, not disinfect it. He could see his reflection in the crimson rivers that poured from his wrists.

He couldn't remember how he got to this point. He tried hard to focus on the events leading up to this moment. The world slowed to a crawl around him as he pondered what it was that had brought him here, wherever the hell "here" was. He didn't remember walking into this room, and he certainly didn't remember how the razor sharp shard of glass had found its way through his flesh. He tried to think a little further back then the events of today. The past few days were too a blur to him. There were fragmented images and thoughts: flashing lights, raised voices, unspeakable sadness and little blue pills. But try as he might, he couldn't link these things together to make a story. It was like to trying to put a puzzle together without having all the pieces first. The last thing that he could clearly remember was being in the box. That damned box stood out in his mind, as it had for every hour, of every day since he'd been in it. It was the one constant in his life. No matter what else happened, the damn box was always there. It was there when he went to sleep. It was there when it woke up. So it was no surprise that it was here now, as he lay in a growing sea of his own blood. This was yet another dramatic event that he could add to an ever growing list. He thought of all the traumatic events he had been through in the last six years. He had stared down the barrel of more than one gun, been stalked, been accused of murder and buried alive. Was it any wonder that it all led to this? How much could one person take? _It seems like something out of an H. Rider Haggard story_, he thought to himself. The hero faces a myriad of near death experiences and unparalleled peril. The problem was that this was his life, and facing death was not the glamorous event that books made it out to be. And still he found himself here, the fallen hero once again, waiting for someone to rescue him. _I would have made a brilliant damsel in distress_ he thought. He would have laughed if he hadn't wanted to cry. He couldn't save himself. He couldn't be saved _from_ himself. He was a white knight without a horse, and without a mighty sword with which to slay his dragons. It seemed that he had come out of the ground, only to find himself doomed to go back in it. He had gone from one coffin to another. He couldn't get himself out of the first one and he hadn't been able to keep himself out of this one.

The red that flowed so freely was rapidly losing its color. It had been so bright, so vibrant a minute ago. Now it had faded to a rusty-gray color. He realized that he was slipping away into the clutches of Death and was not surprised that he didn't fight it. He was surprised to find however, that it didn't hurt. The last time he had faced Death it had hurt a lot. But as he watched his life rush from his body, he felt no pain. He made no effort to cry out or to try and staunch the flow. He had resigned himself to this fate and he was ready. He wondered if they would find the note. It was sitting on the shelf in the locker he had deliberately left open, one last cry for help. Would they understand? Could they understand? He hadn't wanted things to wind up so terribly confused. He had only wanted to escape himself for a little while and instead had wound up like this. His last conscious thought was that they wouldn't blame themselves.

As the world faded to black around him, he didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear the guttural, primal cry that reverberated off the walls, staining the room with the horror of the situation.

"NICK!"


	2. Man I Used To Be

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I have this story pretty much planned out, and only I know how it will end! So you'll just have to keep reading and reviewing! Ha ha! I own nothing except my own thoughts.

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_I tried it, I couldn't find it  
Now I just wanna get back to me  
Back into the man I used to be_

_("Man I Used to Be" by K-OS)_

* * *

One Week Earlier

"NICK!"

He cringed as the voice reverberated around the small confines of the SUV. Sara's voice was amplified as she shouted his name at him through the rear window. He must have zoned out again; she sounded annoyed. She must have called him before and he hadn't answered. He found himself doing that a great deal these days. People had to repeat themselves in order for their words to penetrate the shroud of darkness that settled over him. More often than not he found it akin to being in the box again. The words people said to him seemed muffled somehow. He could see their lips moving and could hear their voices but the words never quite made it past his ears. It was sort of like living life underwater, where the sounds were audible but made no sense. He wondered when he would be able to make out the words again. Of course, these days he didn't much care. People could have told him that his arm was on fire and he would have just shrugged. It all seemed so unimportant to him these days. His job, his friends, and his life seemed to be a vain attempt at filling the void that he couldn't escape. There was an emptiness since they had pulled him from the ground. After spending countless hours alone in the box and contemplating his own mortality, he found that he didn't really want to be in his own company anymore. The person he was today was not the person he had been a year ago. He was just going through the motions of being alive because he knew it was what his friends wanted. They yearned to see the vibrant young man with the perpetual smile, but they didn't seem to realize that man was dead. He had died that day in the box and only a shell remained. Nick hated to think too much about it because he didn't want to admit that he wasn't the person that he used to be. He didn't know how to get back to the man he used to be. He tried to act like that man, but every day found it harder and harder to remember who that person had been. He was trying to walk in the shoes of a stranger and wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the act. One small slip up and they would all know that he was not as okay as he kept insisting he was. He remembered the looks in their eyes when they had pulled him from the ground and he had vowed never to let them look at him that way again. Even if it killed him, he was going to put on the brave face and play the part that they needed him to play.

**BANG!**

As Sara slammed her hand into the side of the door, Nick lurched out of his seat as if he'd been shot, smashing his knee into the dashboard in the process. He let loose a string of profanities as Sara's annoyed face popped in through the open window to glare at him.

"Hello! I have called you three times! We need to get moving Nick. I don't think the rain is going to hold off much longer and we have so much to do. "

He was still cursing and clutching his knee as he glared at her.

"Oh suck it up and walk it off" she chirped as her look of annoyance changed to a smirk.

"Easy for you to say" he muttered as he opened the car door and began to hobble after her. "You're not the one who almost broke their knee cap"

"Yeah, yeah" she called over her shoulder. "Whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, right?"

Nick couldn't see her wince as the words left her mouth, sounding callous even to her own ears. Nick froze in mid-step for half a second at the words, but quickly hurried to catch up to her so that she wouldn't think that her words had resonated as deeply as they had.

"Truer words were never spoken Sara" he said lightly, though he felt as if the words might choke him. It was the right answer, the one she needed to hear. It was the answer that would fool her, for another day at least, into believing that everything was still going to be okay.

* * *

Nearly three hours later Nick and Sara were driving back to the lab in silence. The rain had finally come and washed away anything that might have been left at the crime scene. They had collected as much evidence as they could and could only hope that they had what they needed. The rain began to pound against the windshield with violent ferocity, until visibility was almost zero. Sara was peering intently through the glass, as if staring would make the rain fade from her sight. Finally she let out an exasperated sigh and pulled the car over to the shoulder and put the hazards on.

"What are you doing?" asked Nick as she turned off the ignition.

"Driving in this is suicide. We are going to wait and ride it out. It won't last long."

They sat in silence again, each staring out their respective windows at Nature's fury. The longer they sat, the more condensation grew on the windows. Nick glanced around nervously. He could no longer see outside the vehicle. The world around him had disappeared. Though he knew logically that everything still existed beyond his window, he felt like he was suffocating. He wiped the glass with his hand, trying to mask the rising panic he could feel mounting in his chest. He saw Sara look at him with a look of concern.

"Just trying to watch the storm," he said in a voice that was far too cheerful and an octave higher than his normal tone.

She nodded, the lines of her brow furrowed. She wanted to ask if he was okay and he knew it, so he looked away and went back to trying to stare out the window. His hand lingered on the glass but the condensation reappeared as quickly as it had vanished. He closed his eyes.

_The air was getting thinner and thinner as the seconds crept by like days. No matter where he turned he hit the hard unforgiving Plexiglass. He struggled to maintain his composure while every ounce of his being screamed at him to claw his way out of this nightmare. With every breath the walls of the box grew cloudy and thick with condensation. With every breath he could feel himself creeping closer to death. The walls of the box were foggy, and if he used his imagination, he could pretend that there weren't several feet of dirt on the other side of that glass. The condensation filled the walls of the coffin like smoke, reminding him that he was going to die alone in this hole. There was no escape…nowhere to go…not enough air…_

With a sudden, panicked cry he fumbled for the door handle, and upon finding it, flung himself out the side of the vehicle. Sara, shocked by his sudden yell, hesitated only a second before jumping across the passenger seat after him.

He stumbled from the car in his panic to escape his captivity and backed away blindly as the rain drenched him to the bone. As he lurched blindly into the storm, his foot found the incline of the ditch they had parked next to, and the next thing he knew he was falling headfirst into the brush beneath.

"Jesus! Nick!" he could hear Sara shouting and swearing as she half ran, half slid down the incline to where he lay. The mud and the wet were seeping into his clothes but he didn't care. All that mattered is that he was no longer in that damn box. He couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. Not so many months ago he had been pulled from the box into the dirt. He found himself in a parallel situation at this moment, though this time it was choice, not force that had propelled him from his prison.

"Nick!" For what must have been the hundredth time that day Sara was yelling his name at him. This time however, he answered immediately.

"Yeah?"

She gave him a disbelieving look. How could he be responding so calmly?

"What the hell!" She shouted as she grabbed him by both shoulders and tried to assess if he was injured. There were no visible signs that he was hurt but the rain was so dense that it was hard to tell. "You scared me half to death!"

He reached up and gently pushed her hands away. "I'm sorry. I just.." he found he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Panicked?" she offered in a voice so quiet that the rain all but drowned it out.

He was silent for a long moment. She spoke before he had a chance to find the words that would explain why he had just jumped out a car into a downpour.

"You were back in the box again, weren't you?"

"Why Dr. Sidle, are you trying to diagnosis me?" he said, in an ill attempt at humor.

"Nick, be serious. Was it a flashback?"

He studied the mud and the branches around them as he answered. "No. It's just, um, the car felt really small, you know? And I guess I just needed fresh air. I guess I got it" he finished lamely as he gestured at the ditch.

Though the dirt and the rain marred her face, he knew she was looking at him with that intensity that only she had. But he knew that he would never tell her what had really happened. He told her the version that would be the easiest for her, and everyone else, to digest. He wouldn't confess that he had been back in that box. It was more than a flashback; it was like he had gone back in time. And what was worse, this wasn't the first time that it had happened. In the months since his ordeal, he had often found himself back in those moments. Sometimes it was like today, when he could experience the physical sensation of being trapped in the box. Other times it was far deeper and he was back in an emotional place that he feared to go. There were moments when he was back at that instant when he had placed the gun under his chin, ready to end it all. Though Sara would no doubt think that his reaction today was terrifying, it was far less frightening than when he was there with the gun in his hand. He knew he would never tell her any of this. He could only try and assuage he fears. He would tell her that this was a one-time occurrence and of course nothing like this had happened before. He would blame it on lack of sleep and being busy with work. He would have blamed it on a case but he had already used that excuse on both Warrick and Greg. He mentally noted that he needed to come up with some more excuses to have at the ready in the event that this happened again, which it inevitably would.

She was still staring at him, wanting to say more, but not sure what words to use. He couldn't handle an interrogation, so he pushed himself up out of the mud and rose to his feet. He extended a hand to her and helped her up.

"Come on. I think the rain's starting to let up. We're probably safe to head back to the lab now."

She pursed her lips and started to say something, but stopped herself before the words escaped. Instead she nodded and together they made their way back up the incline to the car. Once they reached the passenger door, they stopped to look at one another. Both were soaked to the bone and splattered with mud. The guys at the lab were going to have a field day with this. Nick climbed into the passenger side and before he shut his door, Sara spoke.

"Are you okay Nick?"

"I'm fine" he lied. "Just a little embarrassed."

She shook her head slightly. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. The same thing wouldn't have happened to any one of us"

_But it didn't happen to any of you! It happened to me!_ "Thanks Sara".

As she walked around to the driver's side, he didn't hear here worry out loud.

"What aren't you telling me Nicky?"


	3. Fade to Black

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for your kind words of encouragement. I am glad to see that people are taking an interest in my story. Getting such nice reviews is a great way to kick off a new year! Please keep the reviews coming and remember: CSI and all its characters belong to CBS, not me. _

* * *

_It's time to work  
The work is useless now  
Oh can't you see  
Your help is lost in me  
I wanna be alone tonight_

(_"Losing All Control" by Rooney)_

* * *

Six Days Earlier

"What aren't you telling me Nicky?"

He ran his hands tiredly over his face as he fumbled to find an answer to the question that wouldn't give too much away. He knew he couldn't pause too long; Grissom would notice that he was trying to formulate a lie. He looked up from the file in front of him and shrugged sheepishly.

"I guess I have been having trouble sleeping lately and its just kind of getting to me. I promise it won't happen again."

It wasn't a total lie. He _was _tired. He was tired of trying to tap dance his way around the questions and the stares that he got from his friends. He was tired of having to justify the slightest misstep in his actions. He was tired of pretending that everything was okay. As Grissom studied him in silence, Nick felt increasingly uncomfortable. If it had been anyone but Grissom he could have gotten away with such a lame explanation of what had happened the day before. Hell, he'd had all night to come up with a better response. Why hadn't he thought up some really thought provoking reason for why he had lost control? He wished Sara hadn't said anything. He had thought about asking her to keep it quiet but he knew that she never would. It wasn't her style to hide things like this. He knew she was concerned about him but he wished that she hadn't told Grissom. The relationship between he and Grissom had been so different before his time in the box. Nick couldn't figure it out, but something had changed behind Grissom's eyes. Grissom always seemed like he was about to say something, but then always seemed to think better of it. It was disconcerting really. Grissom never hesitated to offer his opinions before, why should he start hiding something now? _Maybe he's disappointed in me_, Nick thought miserably to himself. That thought had crossed his mind more than once in the months since the ordeal. _He has every right to be disappointed in me. First I get myself buried alive, then I have a freak-out over something as stupid as fog on a car window. He must think I am such a loser_. Grissom spoke before Nick could continue mentally raging at himself.

"I'm not worried about it happening again Nick. I am worried that there is something more going on here. Losing control like that isn't like you."

_And how the hell would you know that Grissom? I was buried alive for God's sake! Maybe losing control is exactly like me! _"It's really nothing Gris. If something was really wrong I would tell you".

_Liar_, taunted Nick's inner voice. _You would never, EVER tell him if something was wrong. _

Grissom sighed and started for the door. "If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me"

_Yeah, hiding out in your office with only your bugs for company, avoiding human interaction as much as possible. _"I sure do. Thank Grissom."

* * *

The report of the dead body had come in around nine that evening. Everyone else was already working a case, so Grissom assigned Nick and Greg to handle it. Grissom wasn't quick enough to hide the look of reservation that crossed his face about sending Nick back out into the field, but Nick pretended he never saw it. He and Greg drove to the scene and filled the ride with aimless conversation about an upcoming boxing match. It was a welcome relief to have a conversation that Nick found he didn't need to be entirely tuned in to. For a few minutes he was able to forget the ugliness of the past day and a half. 

The lights from the police cruisers called out to Nick and Greg like a beacon in the night. The scene was the darkest corner of the parking lot of a local strip mall. Graffiti marred the walls and broken glass and trash littered the ground. The dingy street lamps offered only a melancholy glow that barely illuminated the scene. Nick pulled the car up behind one of the cruisers and he and Greg grabbed their kits. The lights were spinning so brightly and it gave Nick a headache almost instantly. He pushed the pain away as best he could as they made their way to the officer who was waving them over.

"Hey guys. Couple of teenagers called it in. They were walking back here, having a smoke when they stumbled upon the body. Male, no ID, looks to be between twenty-five and thirty. Shot at least three times, but it's hard to say for sure. The lighting's not so great back there."

"We'll make do." Nick said with a wan smile.

He and Greg headed around the back. David would be arriving soon, so Nick sent Greg to process the body while he began to process the surrounding area. He wasn't sure what he looking for. There were so many bottles and cigarette butts on the ground that it would be next to impossible to know what was relevant and what wasn't. He saw footprints in the mud that lined the edges of the parking lot and began to photograph them. He followed them until they ended, some three feet from a dumpster.

_It would be a good place to get rid of a gun_ Nick thought was he made his way over. He was disappointed to find the dumpster empty, but he began to scour the ground around, behind and underneath for any sign of the murder weapon.

He was so caught up in his task that he didn't hear the footsteps creeping up quietly behind him. He didn't see the dark figure extend its arms to grab him. Suddenly, there was a hand around his upper arm. He could feel the closeness of the presence.

_Strong hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him backwards. Before he could open his mouth to cry out, a gloved hand pressed a cloth over his mouth and nose. He struggled but the person was too strong. The world was starting to spin as the person dragged him backwards. They were taking him! He had to get away…_

"NO!" he cried out as he whirled around, swinging his fist with all his might. He was so caught up in the memory that he couldn't see the person, but he could feel his fist connect with something. Whomever he had hit let out a cry of pain as they tumbled back, their hand still entangled in the sleeve of Nick's coat. In his blind panic he tumbled on top of them, bring his fist down again and again, ignoring the cries. _I won't be a victim again!_ he thought triumphantly as the figure released its grip on Nick's coat and moved its arms to protect its face. As the bright lights swirled around his with dizzying intensity, a voice broke through the night. It was soft at first, but getting louder.

"Nick…Nicky, please….stop, you're hurting me…"

He forced himself to focus on the voice. He hands dropped to his side as he struggled to make out the figure that he had pinned to the ground. Damn, the lights were making his vision dance. Everything was blurry, like a picture that was taking out the side of a moving vehicle. He still couldn't see anything, which was terrifying. _Listen to the voice. Just listen to the voice and everything will be okay_.

"Nick…"

He recognized the voice. It was Greg's voice. And he sounded hurt…

Suddenly the world slammed back into focus so hard that it literally knocked Nick backwards. The lights from the police cruisers flashed too brightly against the night sky. Nick could see the figure that he had be hitting.

It was Greg.

Blood was flowing freely from what was undoubtedly a split lip. There was an ugly abrasion on his left cheek where it had been scraped against the pavement when he fell. The beginnings of several ugly bruises were appearing on his cheekbones and jaw. But it was his eyes that cut into Nick's heart like a knife. Greg's eyes were huge and full of emotion. He looked frightened, confused and sad, all at the same time. Greg pushed himself up into a sitting position, grimacing slightly as he did it. As Nick stared at him in horror, Greg reached out to Nick.

"Nick…"

Nick recoiled as if he'd been burned. He had just attacked one of his best friends without provocation. He wanted the run but his body couldn't seem to pick itself up off the concrete. He settled for scampering backwards until he had put some distance between himself and Greg. He drew his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms. _God what is wrong with me? I could have killed him and not even known it!_

Greg slowly pulled himself to his feet and shakily made his way to where Nick sat. He just stood in front of him until Nick looked up. Greg extended his hand to Nick.

"Come on Nicky. Let's get out of here. I'll call Warrick to come take over the scene."

Nick stared at him. "That's it?" he asked sharply.

Greg looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I just used your face as a punching bag and you're just going to walk away like nothing happened?"

Greg looked uneasy. "I shouldn't have snuck up behind you like that"

"Are you kidding me? Greg! I shouldn't be losing control like this! I didn't even know what I was doing, and you're ready to just act like it never happened?" Nick railed at his friend. "I could have killed you! Do you understand that? I could have killed you and not even realized it! I could have-" his voice broke off as the sudden, horrifying image of Greg laying beaten and broken on the ground in front of him flashed across his mind. That had been too close. He looked faintly at Greg.

"Greg, what the hell is happening to me?"

"Nick, it's ok" Greg said, in a voice that he prayed didn't betray how shaky he really felt. "I don't know what happened either. But I do know that everything will be okay. We'll figure it out."

Nick shook his head. "Everything won't be okay. People always say that it will be okay. And it's never okay!" he said, his voice rising with each word.

"Nick-" Greg reached out for him, but Nick wrenched away sharply.

"Don't. Just don't. Just leave me alone" he muttered bitterly as he stared at the ground.

"You know I can't do that Nick" Greg said softly as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I have to call Grissom"

Nick nodded miserably as he stood there, lost in the tornado of the blue and red lights that continued to dance across the crime scene. He was overcome with a wave of numbness. As the lights hypnotized him, he didn't care what happened now. He knew that there would be reprimanding and counseling, yet he felt nothing. There was a strange sense of disembodiment as he turned to watch Greg on the cell phone. The lights illuminated the ugly mask of bruises every time they swept across Greg's face. The throbbing in his hand reminded Nick that he was cause of his friend's pain, yet he felt oddly removed from the entire situation. He felt like he was on the outside looking it. The events of the evening played back in his mind like a soap opera. He could see Greg's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear the words. He had a pretty good idea of what was being said.

"Nick just went crazy. He attacked me for no reason" 

Well, maybe Greg wouldn't put it in those exact words, but that was essentially the story that was being told. Nick knew that in a matter of minutes the team would swarm the scene. They would all pretend that it was completely normal for them to have to take over a crime scene because one of their own had assaulted another member of the team. They would look at him without making eye contact, and he knew that the look in their eyes would have changed. How many times had he seen the looks in their eyes change over the years? He had seen concern, after Amy Hendler nearly shot him. Then there had been a glimmer of suspicion after Kristy died. Then it was worry after Nigel Crane tried to kill him. Most recently it had been pity, after he finally got out of that box. What kind of look would they give him now, after his actions the last couple of days? Would it be anger? Or maybe contempt? Whatever it was, he wasn't so sure that he could handle it. He wanted to make them understand that he wasn't acting this way because he was falling apart. He would have had to be whole in order to fall apart. He was a fragment of a person that used to exist. Of course, they would never understand this. Once the shock of his ordeal had worn off they had gone back to pretending like everything was all right. Oh sure, he would occasionally catch them looking at him when they thought he wasn't looking, but for the most part they had acted like everything was fine. Sometimes he wanted to scream at them that everything was not fine; he wasn't sure it ever could be fine. But something always kept him from letting them see how much he was hurting. He felt as if they had already seen too much emotion from him during his hours in the box. He didn't know if they could handle anything else. God, how he wanted all of this to go away. He wished those damned flashing lights would just fade to black already and let him disappear into the night.

* * *

Much of what happened after Grissom and the others arrived vanished from Nick's memory almost instantly. He didn't remember what he told them or how they responded. He was vaguely aware of Grissom telling him that he had an appointment with the department shrink first thing in the morning. He was surprised when he found himself in his living room, not in the lab. He struggled to recall Grissom saying something about being off active duty until the psychiatrist cleared him. He may have been told to go home and sleep on it; that would explain how he ended up here. Grissom must have dropped him off. Nick sighed wearily as he stumbled into the kitchen to get some ice for his now throbbing hand. He consciously avoided looking at it because he couldn't stand the reminder of what had transpired only a short time ago. As he wrapped the ice in a towel, his eyes were drawn to the bottles of liquor that lined his makeshift bar on the counter. Most were still full; it would be great to lose himself in the oblivion of alcohol. He decided against it only because he knew showing up at the therapist's office with a hangover would only make things worse. He made his way to the bedroom and began to get changed. His eyes lingered on his gun for several long seconds before he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth._ Live by the gun, die by the gun_ he thought dully, even though he wasn't entirely sure what that meant. He grabbed the bottle of pills and popped two of them in his mouth. He hesitated for a minute before securing the cap and heading back to bed. He was just settling in when the phone rang. He ignored it and waited until the machine picked up.

_"Hi you've reached Nick. Sorry I'm not here right now, but leave your name and number at the tone and I'll call you back when I am here."_ BEEEEEP

Nick wanted to laugh. The machine was right: he _wasn't _here right now. He hadn't been here in quite some time. He listened to see who was calling.

"_Nick it's your mother. Is everything okay? I haven't heard from you in few days and I just want to know that you're all right. Call me when you can. I love you"_

The scared child in Nick wanted to pick up the phone and tell his mom that no, everything was not okay. He wanted to be six years old again and let his mom chase away the monsters that lived under his bed. He knew though that even his mother couldn't chase away the monsters anymore. They weren't just under the bed; they were with him every waking moment and every time he fell asleep. But God how he wished his mom could make everything safe again.

His sleep was restless. He tossed and turned and struggled to keep the nightmares at bay. He cried out in his sleep, even though there was no one around to hear him.

"I can't fight you anymore! This needs to stop!"


	4. Questions, Answers and Lies

Author's Note: Thanks for your reviews; they make me so happy! So happy that I couldn't wait to write the next chapter. I don't own any of the characters, but I do own all the pain and anguish I inflict on them! Happy reading!

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Five Days Earlier

"I can't fight you anymore! This needs to stop!"

Nick's face remained impassive as Warrick railed at him. He had not been impressed when Warrick had arrived at his door three minutes after eight that morning. He had been even less impressed when he found out that Grissom had sent him to make sure that Nick actually made it to his appointment with the therapist. And now he was downright unimpressed with the riot act that Warrick was reading him. When Nick had resisted the idea of seeing the shrink by trying to go back to bed, Warrick had lost it. Nick couldn't remember everything that Warrick had said but he had caught the words "irresponsible", "dangerous" and "frustrating". Nick had simply climbed back into bed, intent on never coming out, as Warrick continued to run down the litany of problems that he perceived Nick to have. If it had been anyone else, Nick would have told him or her to shove it, but he let Warrick rant. He knew that Warrick still felt immense guilt over what had happened the night that he ended up in the box. No matter how many times Nick assured him that it wasn't his fault, Warrick continued to believe that it was some karmic glitch that had put Nick in the box instead of him. So Nick let Warrick stand there at the foot of his bed, raging at him for any error Nick had made in the months since the incident. Warrick had made the mistake of mentioning that Nick had "changed since the Walter Gordon incident", to which Nick had snidely responded that "spending a day and a half under six feet of dirt in a plexiglass coffin tends to have a bit of an impact on a person". It was at that moment that Warrick had lost it on Nick and shouted at him that "it" needed to stop. Nick wasn't sure what "it" was and he didn't think even Warrick knew what "it" was. He did know however that his best friend was very, _very_ angry with him at that moment. Part of Nick wanted to sit up in bed and tell Warrick how he felt and let loose the pain that he was holding on to. But as he watched Warrick get increasingly angry, Nick knew he would never give Warrick the satisfaction of seeing his weakness again. As Warrick raged at him, Nick pulled the covers up over his head and turned to face the wall.

"That's it!" roared Warrick who wrenched the blanket back in one fierce motion. He stalked to the side of the bed where Nick lay and put his face right next to Nick's.

"So help me God Nicky, if you don't get up this minute I will physically pick you up and carry you to the therapist myself! On your own or by force: the choice is yours".

Nick knew Warrick was serious. No matter how proud he was, or how unwilling he was to admit he needed to see the shrink, he would not let Warrick humiliate him like that. Giving a large, dramatic sigh he rolled his eyes and sat up. He was making his way to the bathroom to pull himself together when Warrick's voice stopped him again.

"Don't lock the door"

Nick turned to stare at his friend. "I beg your pardon?" he said in an icy, warning tone.

Warrick closed the space between them in three long strides. "You heard me".

"Since are you the boss of me?"

"I mean it Nicky. Don't lock the door"

Nick leaned in closer with a vicious look in his narrowed eyes. "Why, you afraid I'm going to go in there and slit my wrists with my razor or something?" He turned to walk away.

"Yes" The answer was soft but Nick heard it. He stopped in his tracks as his heart began to race very fast. It took every ounce of fortitude he had not to turn around.

"Don't worry. I wouldn't want you to be burdened with cleaning up another one of my messes," he said with a nastiness that surprised even him. He willed himself to walk to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

He didn't lock it.

* * *

_I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell  
I know, right now you can't tell  
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see  
A different side of me_

_("Unwell" by Matchbox 20)_

The drive to the therapist's office seemed to take a million years. Neither man spoke to one another; the wounds from the morning hadn't even begun to heal. As the office building came into view, Nick's palms began to perspire. He hadn't been to see the doctor in so many months. He would have given anything not to have to see her now. What was her name again? Dr. Stanley, if he recalled correctly. He remembered her as someone who didn't beat around the bush. She wouldn't buy into any of his lies, which worried him. He knew he should be honest with her, but it seemed so forced and unnatural to confide all of his problems in a stranger. He sighed inwardly. _Think of it as a necessary evil so that you can get back to work_ he told himself. Of course, after last night, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to go back to work. He didn't want to know how awkward and ugly that could be.

They parked the car and Nick wasn't surprised when Warrick turned off the ignition and got out. No doubt Grissom had told him that Nick wasn't to be given any opportunity to get out of seeing the doctor. Nick would never say it out loud, but he was secretly sort of glad that Warrick was coming with him. It was nice to know that he had some support, even if it wasn't voluntary. They made their way to the seventh floor. If Warrick noticed how Nick closed his eyes during the elevator ride, he never let on. The doors slid open and Nick forced himself to walk out, instead of throwing himself out of the tiny space. The waiting room was bright and as inviting as a psychiatrist's office could be. Nick had barely sat down to wait when the doctor called him in.

"I'll be here when you're done," said Warrick tonelessly, without looking up from the People magazine that he had begun to thumb through.

"Oh goody" muttered Nick darkly without looking back.

Dr. Stanley's office was framed by a window that had less than stellar view of the street that ran parallel to the building. Framed prints of Pollock's work hung on the walls around her desk. Her degrees decorated an entire section of one wall. _Well I may not agree with her taste in art but at least she's qualified to dissect my psyche_ Nick thought as she encouraged him to sit in one of two big leather chairs. She sat in the other, angling herself so she faced him. He suddenly flashed back to being called into the principal's office when he was in the sixth grade. He had been caught cheating on his science test. It was the one and only time he had been in trouble in school. He felt the same way at this moment. His heart was racing and he was trying to figure out how he was going to lie his way out of trouble. Dr. Stanley glanced at the chart in her hands before she spoke.

"So Nick, what brings you here today?"

_The ability of Gil Grissom to make my life unpleasant if I didn't show up. _"It came from the direction of my supervisor"

She smiled. "I was notified last night that you would be coming to see me. However, that's not the reason you're here. Why don't you tell me why Mr. Grissom directed you to me."

_Because he thinks I am a raving lunatic who turned a fellow teammate's face into hamburger meat. _"I have had a couple of, well, I guess you could call them 'troubling moments' the last couple of days. I have, uh, been having memories of the ordeal I went through last May"

She studied him. "By the ordeal you are referring to being buried alive?"

_No, I'm referring to a paper cut I got filing reports_ "Yeah"

"Please tell me what has happened in the last couple of days"

_My world is spinning out of control so fast that I can barely hang on_. "Well two days ago I had a bit of a panic attack while a co-worker and I were riding out the storm in the car. The windows fogged up and I guess I sort of freaked out"

"You jumped out of the car into the storm and fell down a hill. That's a little more than a 'freak out', don't you think?"

_Ouch, way to pour salt in the wound._ "Sure. So after I **freaked out**," he made a point to emphasize the words, "I thought everything was okay. But then yesterday I was at a crime scene with another co-worker and he came up behind me. I guess it triggered a flashback or whatever you guys would call it and I lost control."

"You punched your co-worker repeatedly, split his lip and caused multiple deep bruises to his cheek and jaw. What were you thinking while this was going on?"

_I don't know but right now I'm thinking I would like to give you a swift smack in the face_ "I was thinking about the night that Walter Gordon grabbed me at the crime scene."

"I see" she made some notes on the chart. She looked up at him expectantly.

"Go on Nick"

He shrugged defiantly. "You haven't asked me another question yet"

She smiled and laid her pen in her lap. "Fair enough. Alright then, why are you continuing to pretend that everything is okay when all the evidence about you tells me that its not?"

_Wow doc, way to cut to the chase. You and Grissom should get together some time_. "I don't know what you mean"

"You have dark circles under your eyes, which suggest that last night was not the first night that your sleep has been troubled. You are hunched over, as if you are trying to make yourself disappear. You are, according to Mr. Grissom, withdrawn, sullen and irritable. You are far thinner than the last time I saw you, so you haven't been taking care of yourself. And everything about your actions the last few days signal a cry for help that has, until now, gone unheeded. Does that sound about right?"

_I really hate you right about now_ "It sounds like me all right."

"Do you like feeling this way?"

_Oh yeah, can't you tell that I am having the time of my life over here?_ "No, of course not. But its not like I feel this way all the time. Its only been really bad the last couple of days. I think I am just stressed with work and the fact that I haven't been sleeping well."

"I think you have been feeling this way for far longer then a couple of days. I suspect, though I doubt you'll admit it, that you have been struggling with this ever since the events of last May. I think it's getting worse and I think you need to deal with this. You can't overcome your demons if you're afraid to face them Nick"

_If you had my demons you wouldn't be able to see straight_ "Well maybe it's been going on for longer then two days. But I have really only had troubling control it during the last couple of days. And I would like to stop before I hurt somebody else"

"Or yourself." she said seriously.

_Is there some kind of conspiracy against me today?_ "I'm not sure I like what you're implying"

She never flinched. "Have you thought about killing yourself?"

_Would you blame me if I had?_ "No! Of course not!"

"You are awfully quick to dismiss that suggestion."

_And you are awfully slow if you can't tell that I don't want to go there_ "Of course I am quick to dismiss it. I think the suggestion is ludicrous and offensive. No, I have never thought about killing myself"

"Are you still taking the Xanax I prescribed for you back in May?" 

_I still suffer from anxiety, don't I?_ "Yes, but I –"

"I only gave you one refill. How did you obtain additional prescriptions?"

_So because I wasn't suicidal, you're going to make me into a drug addict? That's not cool doc_ "I spoke to my doctor and it was agreed that I should continue to stay on it"

She nodded thoughtfully. "You are aware that it is potentially habit forming?"

_Yes, thank you, I can read the warning labels_ "Yes, but I don't take them every day"

"How many pills do you still have in the bottle?"

_Why, you want a couple? They can cure what ails ya!_ "Thirty seven"

"How do you know exactly how many pills there are, unless you've counted them on a regular basis?" Her smile showed too many teeth.

_You bitch._ "I…I just…"

"Nick look at me. I am not judging you. But if you have counted the pills, then that indicates you have contemplated whether or not you have enough pills to end your life. I am concerned Nick. I think that you have thought about suicide, though you deny it. The doctor-patient privilege prevents me from revealing any of our discussion to Mr. Grissom. However, because you are seeing me as part of your job, I am required to give him my professional opinion as to whether or not you are mentally fit to return to work. I will tell him that I do not think you should be out in the field at this time, until you and I engage in some more sessions. I will however tell him that there is no reason why you cannot work in the lab. I think it is imperative that you be around people during this time, especially since you are very vulnerable right now. I will advise him that you should not be alone, though I won't tell him why. You are to see me every other day, and you will start talking to me. Do I make myself clear?"

_Yes mom. And I'll make sure I eat all my vegetables_ "I think I've got it. Can I go now?"

"Yes. Nick, I want to help you. But you need to want to help yourself. I want you to do something for me. Until our next meeting I want you to keep a journal of the bad memories. I want you to jot down the time, what you were doing when the memory hit and what happened as a result. This will help you to track the problem and perhaps pinpoint any events that tend to make the memories worse. Can you do that for me?"

_Oh excellent. I was wondering when we were going to get to the touchy-feely crap._ "Absolutely. No problem."

"Good. Then I will see you the day after next."

_Let me find a box big enough to contain my joy_ "Thanks Dr. Stanley. See you soon"

He was sure he could hear her dialing the phone before he had even closed the door. God, Grissom was going to have a field day with this. Things could not get any worse. Warrick stood up as Nick came out. _At least I thought they couldn't get any worse_ he thought bitterly. The drive was silent until Nick realized that they weren't driving back to his house.

"Where are you taking me?" Nick demanded angrily.

Warrick gripped the wheel. "Grissom wants to see you in his office. Relax Nick, I'm not kidnapping you or anything"

The words had barely left his mouth when he grimaced. Nick let out a half laugh, half snort that was both derisive and hurt.

"It's called tact Rick. Might want to look into it"

Warrick bit his lower lip. "Nicky, I'm sorry. It just slipped out."

"Forget it."

"Nick-"

"Forget it!" There was finality in Nick's voice that made Warrick's apology die on his lips. They didn't speak again until they arrived at the lab. Nick wanted to turn and run the minute they got inside. The hallway to the lab felt like it was miles long. Was it his imagination or was everyone starting at him? The air was starting to feel very thin and his heart was hammering so loud he thought it might burst through his chest. The panic was spreading over him like wildfire. He fingered the tiny bottle in his pocket. He had slipped the pills in there last night, so he wouldn't forget them. He very much wanted to take one, two, twenty right this second so that the panic would subside. He needed to be very cautious, lest he raise suspicion. He tried to force the trembling out of his voice as he called to Warrick.

"Hey Warrick? Tell Grissom I'll be right there. I just need to grab my cell phone from my locker while I think of it."

Warrick seemed to find this a reasonable excuse and nodded his head. Nick slipped into the locker room and, after making sure it was empty, opened the bottle of pills. He shook two of the little blue pills into his hand, popped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He coughed a bit as one of the pills stuck slightly on the way down. _Wouldn't that be the great irony? Choking to death on the very pills that the shrink thinks I want to OD on_. He cleared his throat and fumbled to close the bottle. He hands didn't seem to want to co-operate because they were trembling so badly. He had just about succeeded in closing the bottle when a hand snaked out from behind him and swept the bottle from his hands. He gasped as the pills clattered like tiny pellets of hail across the locker room floor. He turned and saw Warrick's face glaring at him thunderously. Before Nick could speak Warrick had grabbed him roughly by both arms and pinned him against the wall.

"How many did you take?" he bellowed in a voice that could be heard clear across town. "How many!"

Nick winced at the grip his friend had. He realized that Warrick must have been thinking the worst. "Warrick, I didn't-"

"I won't stand by and watch you self destruct!" Warrick shouted.

"Go to hell!" Nick found himself yelling back. "Don't even pretend you know what I am going through!"

"I would if you would just tell me!"

Nick laughed a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, that will be the day. Because you have been so emotionally available lately and all" He wrenched his arms out of Warrick's vice-like grip.

Warrick made no move to grab him again. "Nick I know you must be feeling-"

"Ha! You don't know anything about how I have been feeling. Or not feeling for that matter. Do you know what its like to go through every day without feeling anything? I didn't think so!" Nick practically spat as he bent to pick up the pills.

"No!" Warrick shouted as he yanked Nick up by one arm. "You can't hide behind the pills!"

"Watch me!"

Without warning, Warrick drew his arm back and slapped Nick across the face with as much strength as he could muster. "Damn you! Feel something! Feel anything!"

"Warrick!" A third voice broke in. Grissom strode into the locker room, though he had seen everything. He reached Nick who was holding his stinging cheek in one hand. The look in Nick's eyes was murderous. Warrick stepped back involuntarily. Grissom took charge of the situation.

"Nick, you're going to join me in my office. Warrick, you're going to clean this up. I will deal with you later." Leaving no room for discussion, he propelled Nick gently from the room by one elbow, leaving Warrick alone to wonder how things had gone so horribly wrong.

* * *

Grissom all but pushed Nick into one of the chairs in his office, and then went to sit behind his desk. He was silent for a long moment. Nick felt like he needed to offer some sort of explanation.

"I'm not addicted to the pills," he said lamely, even though it was the truth.

Grissom nodded. "I know".

"You do?" He hadn't intended to sound so surprised but he had just assumed the Grissom, like Warrick, thought he was addicted to the Xanax that he had been taking to deal with his anxiety.

"Yes Nick, I know you're not addicted to the pills. I've learned the hard way how to be on the lookout for warning signs of addiction. But I am worried about you. I spoke to Dr. Stanley this morning."

"And?" he said, though he had a pretty good idea of the answer.

"And she confirmed what I had begun to suspect. That you are having difficulty dealing with the ordeal and that you are at a dangerous crossroad. I want you to level with me Nicky: are you thinking about ending your life?"

"Is that the question of the day? Because it's getting really old, really fast."

"You haven't answered me Nick" Grissom said severely.

"Grissom –no. I am not thinking of killing myself. And I'm not on drugs and I am not a danger to others and I'm not whatever other horrible things you think I am. I am fine."

"No you're not" The words were tinged with sadness.

"It's nothing I can't take care of myself," said Nick firmly. "Is there anything else? Because I know there must be a desk somewhere that has a mountain of paperwork on it for me. I am pushing paper until I can convince all of you that there is nothing to worry about. If you'll excuse me, I want to get back to work." He got up and walked out, half expecting to hear Grissom call him back. But Grissom didn't say a word. As Nick went to bury himself in the paper mountain that he was condemned to, he found himself really wishing that he still had the pills. There were still thirty-five of them, provided Warrick found them all. That would have been more than what he needed.

Grissom watched Nick go with a mixture of concern and sadness. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Why won't you let anyone help you?"


	5. I'm Here But Not Really

Author's Note: Oooh, that last chapter got some really good reviews! I am glad that you guys appreciated the sarcastic edge I gave Nick – a case of art imitating life as you may have guessed! This chapter gave me a bit of trouble so I'm sorry if it's terrible! This is dedicated to Rummy and JJ, and our time on the couch in the Senior's Room (don't ask!).

* * *

_I know nobody knows  
where it comes and where it goes  
I know it's everybody's sin  
you got to lose to know how to win_

_("Dream On" by Aerosmith)_

Four Days Earlier

"Why won't you let anyone help you?"

"Because I don't need you! I don't need anybody!" shouted Nick as he stalked away from Grissom and stormed out of the lab. He passed Warrick but shoved his friend out of the way before he could speak. He smiled smugly as Warrick hit the wall with a resounding thud. Nick flung his ID on the floor as he left the lab in one final gesture of defiance. He got into his car and sped away, to destination unknown.

* * *

The next thing he knew he was sitting in his house. He was sitting on the floor of his kitchen, surrounded by a plethora of assorted items. He didn't remember pulling them out and he certainly didn't remember bringing everything into the kitchen. He knew it was his kitchen, but somehow it wasn't. It felt different somehow. It was as if he was in one place but it was a completely different place. It didn't look like his kitchen but he knew that it was. _Curiouser and curiouser _he thought giddily to himself. He was sitting there, not sure how he got there, and was quoting Alice in Wonderland in his head. He began to rifle through the items that surrounded him, with a detached sense of interest.

First there was a mirror. Or at least, it was what remained of what used to be a mirror. It was fragmented into about a hundred pieces and scattered on the surface of a silver serving tray he didn't even know he owned. His reflection stared back at him like a Picasso painting. It was his face, but there was something about it that he didn't recognize. Whether it was the distortion of the broken mirror to not, something was definitely wrong as he gazed at himself. As he gazed at his image, perturbed by what he saw, everything faded to red. The redness poured from each shard of glass like syrup until all he could see was the blanket of red that washed away his face. Horrified, he threw the tray aside, not caring if the glass scattered across the floor.

_What the hell was that about?_ he wondered as a chill came over him. _Did it just get darker in here or something? _He could have sworn that it was brighter a moment ago; now the lighting was sort of dingy. He shrugged it off and picked up the next item that lay beside him on the floor. It was a long coil of rope. He ran his hands over the coarse twists and rolled the rope between his palms. He played with it absently, twisting and tying it at random. He looked down and saw that he had knotted it so that it left a loop hanging at one end. _Cool, I made a lasso! _He began to swing it over his head like he had done so many times in his childhood. He'd always wanted to be John Wayne. John Wayne was the epitome of cowboy cool. _Too bad I turned out like me instead_ he thought bitterly as the rope swung faster and faster. Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't breathe. There were invisible hands wrapping themselves around his throat, cutting off his air. He clawed at his neck, the rope still in his hand. _God, somebody help me!_ he screamed silently. The room was starting to spin. In a fit of panic, the rope fell from his hands as he reached up to clutch at his throat. The rope hadn't even hit the floor when the crushing feeling in his chest disappeared as quickly as it had come. He gulped in the air and swept the rope out of his sight.

He wanted to get up and leave this room but his legs wouldn't cooperate. There was a reason why he was supposed to stay here. Something was compelling him to continue looking through these odd items on the floor, even though he didn't want to anymore. He picked up a small bottle. _Funny, it looks just like the one that Warrick took from me yesterday_. He popped the top off and shook the contents into his hand. Pills that were every color of the rainbow spilled into his outstretched palm and onto the floor. He couldn't believe that many pills came from such a small bottle. He picked up a little red one and looked at it closely. He squinted (had it gotten darker in here) and held the pill right up beside his eye. If he didn't know any better he would have sworn that the pill had the words "Eat Me" printed on the side. But that was just craziness…wasn't it? He scooped a handful from the floor and looked at each in turn. Every single one seemed to have the same alluring message on the side of them. He stared into his palm at the mesmerizing array of colors that it held. He suddenly felt a very strong urge to pop all of the pills in his mouth. What harm could it do? After all, the pills were telling him to eat them. He was just bringing them to his mouth when his arms began to twitch violently. A sharp pain shot through his stomach and he could taste the bile rising in his mouth. His hands were shaking so badly that the pills fell to the floor at an agonizingly slow rate. _NO!_ his mind screamed out to him as his hands failed to comply with the demand that they catch the pills. _I need those!_ He couldn't stop the violent convulsions or the blindness that suddenly overtook him. All he could hear was the tiny clicking sounds of the pills hitting the floor….

Then suddenly everything was as it was. The pills were gone, he could see again and the shaking had stopped. _I must be losing it! _He wanted to run away from this nightmare but couldn't move. The kitchen was getting darker still, until the overhead light illuminated a perfect circle on the floor in front of him. One final thing lay before him.

His gun.

He reached out with palms that were slick with perspiration and picked up the gun. He ogled it with sort of morbid fascination. Up until his time in the box, he hadn't really given his gun much thought. But during those long hours of confinement, he had found himself dissecting the gun with his eyes. The criminalist in him knew every intimate detail of the gun's mechanics, while the terrified observer in him knew what a bullet could do at close range. Now, as he sat here lovingly holding his gun in his hand, it all came rushing back to him. He remembered putting the gun up underneath his chin in the seconds before they had found him. _So close…so damn close_. He checked the weapon. It was loaded. He had done it once before…could he do it again? His hands were surprisingly steady as he brought the gun up to his chin. He closed his eyes as the cool metal pressed against his draw. There was a familiarity there that brought him a strange sense of comfort. He couldn't control his life, but he could control his death. He could here Gordon's voice in his ears.

_"Put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger"_

Well that made sense. Maybe it was manlier to swallow a bullet. Probably a better chance for success too. With a split second of hesitation, Nick placed the barrel of the gun in his mouth. _What am I doing?_ he wondered, though not without a sense of complacency. He knew the answer. _The only thing I can do_. He took a deep, final breath, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger…

The bang exploded through the room with the ferocity of a cannon blast. Nickwas all but thrown out of hisseat. His heart pounding and his body shaking he looked around. He was not in his kitchen; he was in one of the offices at the lab. The bang had been from Bobby, who was firing a test round. It took Nick a couple of long minutes to realize that he had been sound asleep behind the stack of files. _Just a dream_ he told himself. _It was just a dream_. The images of the dream were still swirling in Nick's mind, already fading with his consciousness. He tried to piece the jumbled pictures together but found that they were escaping him too quickly. The only things he could really remember were the final, haunting image of the gun in his mouth…and the hint of disappointment he felt when he woke up. He couldn't help but wonder aloud.

"What if it all means something?"


	6. Hold Me Too Tightly

Author's Notes: Okay, so upon re-reading that last chapter, it is pretty disturbing. Sorry! I wrote myself into a plot corner, and a good old-fashioned dream sequence seemed to be the only way out! God willing, the rest of the chapters will be a little more rooted in reality (I make no promises however!). Thanks for all the kind reviews and I still am not making any money off this: I am just feeding my ego.

* * *

Three Days Earlier

"What if it all means something?"

Nick fought the urge to slam his head repeatedly into the huge cherry oak desk. Why, why, WHY had he told Dr. Stanley about the dream? As if coming here and letting her pick him apart with that phony smile on her face wasn't bad enough. Now he was giving her reason to interrogate him further. He hadn't meant to tell her; it had slipped out when she asked how he had been sleeping. He had stupidly admitted to falling asleep at work and then even more stupidly told her about his disturbing dream. And now, there she was, with the damn phony smile on her face, asking him a question that she knew full well he wouldn't be able to answer.

"Like what?" he ask, as if he really cared to know the answer.

"What do you think it means?" she asked calmly.

_I think it means that you are starting to get on my last nerve. _"I think it means that the stress of the last few days is getting to me. I think it means that after talking with both you and Grissom, I can't help but have these really dark images implanted in my head."

"I see. Do you often blame others for your own problems?"

_Do you think anyone would blame me if I dropkicked you right now?_ "I don't think I am blaming anyone for my problems. I am making an observation on things the way I see them."

"Really. Well I think you are inaccurate in your observations. Would you like to know why?" she said from behind too many teeth.

_I'd like to know why you can't leave me the hell alone_. "Sure, please enlighten me" He didn't even try to keep the edge out of his voice.

She didn't bat an eye. "Alright. You are in denial about your problems and are quick to shift the focus off of you onto anyone around you. When you refer to the episodes you've experienced the past few days you put the emphasis on what involvement the other individual had in your experience. When you talk about the incident in the car you preface it by telling me that 'Sara turned the car off and I panicked'. When you talk about what happened at the crime scene you start with 'Greg snuck up behind me and I lost it'. You try to make it out to be a case of cause and effect, which, quite frankly Nick, it's not. You are trying to minimize your own involvement in your problems and instead make it out to be someone else's problem that they are placing squarely on your shoulders. You refuse to accept responsibility for what is transpiring and you are unwilling to acknowledge the fact that you are clearly in trouble. Your dream last night indicates that on some level, whether you are aware of it or not, you have suicidal tendencies at this point in time. Now, do you want to continue sitting here being defiant or do you want to do something to make it better?"

_Uhhhh…._"Uhhhh…"

"I realize that this is difficult to hear Nick, but you need to be told. I am not the enemy, no matter how much you hate me right now. I want to help you Nick but I can't do that until you acknowledge that there is a problem here, one far bigger than you are capable of dealing with by yourself."

_Haven't I burdened everybody enough? I can't ask for help anymore – I've become a hassle._ "I wish it were that simple"

"Tell me why its not."

_I would doc but I'm on the clock here._ "I don't want to admit I need anyone's help"

"Why not?"

_You're the shrink, you tell me. There must be a fancy-schmancy term for this._ "Because I don't want to bother anyone."

"Why do you think it would bother people to admit that you need their help?"

_Because I can't stand to see the pity in their eyes anymore._ "I just feel like I should be able to deal with it myself"

"That's all fine and well Nick but you just answered a question that I didn't ask. Why do you think it would bother people to admit that you need their help?"

_Can't you just back the hell off once and a while?_ "I don't know. It's just the way I feel".

She changed the subject. "What was your relationship with your co-workers like before the incident?"

_Oh we were all just footloose and fancy-free…when we weren't having Ecklie drive a wedge between us. It was okay except for the way Catherine and Sara could barely be in the same room together without snarking at one another. It was great except when Grissom was cutting Greg down in some perverse attempt to build him up. It was swell except for when Warrick seemed to practically disappear. It was wonderful except when I was trying to pretend that everything wasn't a shadow of what it used to be not so long ago._ "Our relationship was perfect. Couldn't ask for more."

"And after the incident?"

_Well let's see. Once I stopped clinging to them like I would never let go at the hospital, things have been pretty good. Sure, Warrick seems like a bomb just waiting to go off due to his guilt over it being me, not him. And okay, so Sara watches me like a hawk and can't wait to jump in and play therapist. Catherine is great, when she's not burying herself in a case – no pun intended. I mean, yeah Greg has become really quiet and practically blends into the woodwork. And I guess Grissom is acting like he is hiding something from me, but otherwise everything is A-OK._ "Our relationship hasn't really changed that much. I think everything's just super."

She looked at him long and hard. It was as if she was trying to read his thoughts. He wondered if he was really that transparent, and if she could really see through him so easily. How could he ever explain to her that he had never been surrounded by more people, yet never felt lonelier?

"Nick, how did it make you feel when you found out that the team could see you in the box?"

_Oh tell me that you're not going there_ "Why is that relevant?"

"I think that you are experiencing some very complex feelings regarding your friends and co-workers right now, and I am trying to gain as much information as I can. Which, may I be so bold to say, is increasingly difficult since you are so unwilling to tell me more than what you think it is that I want to hear"

_Oh go to hell_ "Fine. If you really want to know, I felt really embarrassed when I found out that everyone could see me losing it inside that box. It's not the image that I want them to think of when they think of me. And yet every time they look at me, I think that's what they're seeing. I have never felt, or looked, more helpless in my life. I feel like they are looking at me like I am some kind of total failure and some pathetic loser."

"Why do you think that Nick?"

_You don't work with them every day. You have no idea._ "I think that because I know them. If it had been any of them, they would have handled it very differently. Grissom would have figured out that the light was connected to the fan and would have disabled it without shooting a hole into the box that let those damn ants in. Of course, I'm not so sure that the ants would have bothered him so much. Sara would have been her usual cool, calm collected self until we came and got her. Nothing fazes that girl, I swear. Warrick would have disguised any panic that he may have felt behind that ultra cool exterior of his. None of them would have reacted the way I did."

"Warrick would be very happy to hear you paint that kind of picture of him. He wouldn't believe you, but he'd appreciate the kind of person you think he is"

_How the hell would you know what Warrick would think? Unless…_ "Warrick's been to see you?"

"They all have"

_It gets better and better, doesn't it?_ "Even Grissom?"

She nodded. "Your friends have pain too Nick"

_Do I even want to know?_ "What did they tell you?"

She smiled what may have been the only genuine smile he'd ever seen her show. "You know I can't tell you that"

_It was worth a try_ "Are they okay? Can you at least tell me that?"

"They are all dealing with it in their own ways. But they are all still dealing with it, of that I can assure you."

_Great. Its not bad enough they had to dig my sorry ass out of the ground but now they have to see a shrink to deal with it too? Could I be more of a burden?_ "The never told me"

"Maybe they didn't know how you would react. You can understand that, can't you?"

_And we're back where we started again_ "I think my time is just about up for today Doctor"

For a minute he thought she was going to object and make him stay. Instead she set the file down and rose to see him out. "Nick, you have some great friends who want to see you through this. Please consider the possibility that you are not the only one suffering. Sometimes, pain can help heal pain. I'll see you in a couple of days."

_If I can make it until then_ "See you then"

He walked out of her office, not certain he would ever want to walk back in.

* * *

He drove around aimlessly for nearly an hour. The car must have known the way by itself because he didn't remember guiding it anywhere. He found himself on the edge of Lake Mead. He had been there countless times before and he was oddly relieved to find himself there again. He parked the car and wandered down to the sandy shore. He picked up some rocks and began to skip them across the waters silent surface, He remembered hearing somewhere that each time you threw a rock into the water, it not only disrupted the surface but also changed the water forever by remaining on the bottom. It was not unlike how he felt these days. Everything that had happened in recent months had had obvious ripples on the surface, but the more plaguing damage was what had remained after the incident had passed. He was changed forever, and no amount of therapy was going to change that. He began to think back on his appointment with Dr. Stanley. It had surprised him to hear that members of the team had all met with her following his ordeal. He hadn't realized how much it had impacted them. Instead of being glad that they were indeed experiencing concern for him, he felt bad. It was his fault that they needed to talk to someone. If he had handled himself differently, they would have never needed to see Dr. Stanley and her phony grin. Okay, maybe he couldn't have prevented Walter Gordon kidnapping him. But he sure could have held it together while he was in the box. Even now he cringed when he thought of how they must perceive him after witnessing his meltdown. He was just damaged goods. He had fallen apart inside the box. No wonder they all seemed to think he was going to fall apart now. Poor, pathetic Nick who loses his cool when things get tough. He wouldn't want to work with somebody who was such an emotional disaster. He sighed and sank into the sand less than three feet from the water's edge. Damn it was cold. No wonder the lakeshore was so empty. He was the only living soul stupid enough to be sitting on the shores of the lake in this weather. The wind whipped around him, chilling him to his core. He ran his hands over the course texture of the sand, letting it fall through his fingers. He recalled another philosophical analogy – one about the tighter you hold the sand, the more you lose. If you hold the sand loosely however, you can keep it. He was sure they were talking about love, but he felt like it applied to his memories. He was holding too tightly to them, and the tighter he held the memories, the more he lost himself. He wanted to loosen his grip on himself and let go. Letting go would be so wonderful. He just didn't want to have to think about it anymore. How great it must be to just decide that it was time to put the memories to rest. He continued to dig his hands though the cool sand, making a small hole in the earth beside him…

_Dirt. Everywhere he looked there was dirt. It surrounded him on all sides. He was looking out a window into the depths of the earth. There was no light, except that hideous green glow that warped his world around him. There was no telling how much dirt was around him. Inches? Feet? He felt like the earth around him was crushing him like a boa constrictor. As he stared up at the dirt, he could see his own features reflected back at him. He was being smothered! He was part of the earth now! And there was no escape…_

"No!" he shouted as he leapt up from the hole he was digging. He took a few harried steps away from the nightmare, not even noticing that he was stepping directly into the lake. It took three more steps after that before he even realized that he was up to his shins in the ice-cold water. He stopped and stared. Well he must be quite a sight to see as he stood there in the lake. The cold pierced his skin but it was strangely comforting. For the first time, he actually felt something. The pain was a welcome relief to the numbness that had taken control of him so many months ago. He took another tentative step into the lake. Then another. And another. Before he knew it, the water was over his knees. _Man, I must be losing it he thought as he continued to wade further out. Fully clothed and still moving deeper. Yep, I am officially crazy. Dr. Stanley must be sitting somewhere saying, "I told you so"._ He was out in water over his waist now. How easy it would be to just keep walking until the water just swept him up in its icy grasp. He wasn't even aware that he was wading out further. Before he knew it, the water was up to his neck. The cold tore through him like a knife, sucking the breath right out of him. He wondered how long it would take for hypothermia to set in. Probably only a few more minutes if he remembered correctly. He tentatively moved out further. He was so used to feeling the ground beneath his shoes that it was shock when he suddenly found himself in water up over his head. The drop off came suddenly and he inhaled a huge amount of water as he submerged. He choked and spluttered, but in his panic, didn't have the presence of mind to back up. He felt like he was being pulled deeper into the watery abyss. He was washed up in the blackness of the water and the burning of his lungs. He saw spots dance before his eyes and his body screamed at him for air. He splashed blindly in the water, until he foot brushed the bottom. It was all he needed. He pulled back through the water until his other foot found the security of the lake floor. He pushed himself up through the surface just as his lungs finally gave up. Instead of the mouthful of water he'd been expecting he got air and he greedily tried to draw in as much air as he could. It took several long minutes but he was finally assured that the air was not going to be taken away from him. He made his way sluggishly back to the shore, where he immediately threw up. Well. That had been potentially bad. He could only imagine what everyone's response would have been when his body turned up weeks later.

_"Right up until the end he denied there was a problem. And here we are, dragging him out of the water. After we exhaust all this time and effort into finding him, we find out that he threw himself into a lake. He couldn't even die without letting us down"_

Nick brushed the sand off his jeans as best he could and began to stagger his way back to the car. He had a feeling he had just avoided embarrassing himself again. His team would have been so disappointed in him if they had had to dredge the lake to find his body. It would have been such an imposition. He could just see them shaking their heads and saying _"He couldn't even kill himself properly"._ No, it was better that it didn't end this way. He wondered absently if they would miss him if he were gone. Before the nightmare with Walter Gordon, he would have said that yes, they would be devastated to lose him. Now he wasn't so sure. They had been relieved to find him alive, but was that relief short-lived? Maybe he just wasn't worth the hassle anymore. Maybe he needed to do something about it. It wouldn't be pretty. Hell, it wouldn't even be original. But it would get the job done. As he climbed into his car, soaked and still reeling from the near drowning, he made up his mind.

"This ends now"


	7. Someone Else's Life

Author's Note: Well it's good to see I haven't lost any of my readers as this story gets increasingly dark! It's really taken on a mind of its own at this point, and I am along for the ride as much as you guys are! Your reviews are lovely and really do make my day. I own nothing and I make no money off any of this (sigh)

* * *

_In a way  
It's someone else's story  
I don't see myself  
As taking part at all_

_("Someone Else's Story" from the musical "Chess")_

"This ends now"

Damn. Greg sounded mad. Nick had managed to avoid him for the last few days but Greg had finally cornered him. Nick had been so close to escaping another day at the lab without having to see the remnants of the beating on Greg's face, but Greg had been too quick for him today. He had Nick squarely trapped against the row of lockers in the locker room, blocking the door with his slight frame. He stood there, arms folded across his chest, silently daring Nick to try and leave. Nick had feebly tried to protest but Greg was having none of it. He was going to talk to Nick whether Nick wanted to or not.

"Can I at least sit down?" asked Nick wearily, running his hands over his face. His impromptu dip in the lake the previous day had left him feeling run down and chilled. He pulled his baggy sweater tighter around him, wondering if he would ever feel warm again.

"Of course" said Greg, though he continued to stand. Nick sank gratefully onto the hard bench.

"Why have you been avoiding me Nick?" There was something in his voice that Nick couldn't quite make out. Sadness? Anger? Confusion?

"I haven't been-"

"Come off it Nick. You have made a point of avoiding me since…since what happened."

Nick let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Can you blame me?"

"Well…no, I guess not. But I wish you would talk to me about what happened. You know I'm not angry with you."

"I know, I know. But it's hard to talk to someone after you nearly bashed their head in with your bare hands."

"It wasn't that bad Nick"

"It could have been"

Greg leaned against a locker. "Yeah, you're right. It could have been worse. It could have been a whole lot worse. But everything turned out okay in the end, and-"

"Everything did NOT turn out okay!" Nick said loudly. His eyes flashed darkly.

"Hey take it easy man. I only meant-"

"You only meant that everything turned out okay for you!" Nick said coldly. "In case you haven't noticed, things did not turn out okay for me. I guess its easy to think things turned out so peachy, when you're not the one who has to see the department shrink every other day, or when you're not the one who people tiptoe around like you're going to fall apart any second, or when you're not the one whose life is coming apart at the seams. I guess then it's real easy to think that everything turned out okay"

Greg stared at him, with mouth agape. He was looking at Nick as if he had never seen him before. His eyes were shining so very, very slightly. He took a ragged breath and looked at the floor.

"Are you angry with me Nick?"

That was the last response Nick had expected. "I – what?"

"Are you angry with me?" came the tiny question.

"Why would I be angry with you?" Nick asked, confused.

"Because it was my fault that you lost it at the crime scene. I snuck up on you and scared you half to death. Hell, anyone would have freaked, but to do that to someone who has been through what you have…it was just so stupid of me. I wasn't thinking. I'm really sorry Nick. I wouldn't blame you if you were angry with me. I've been mad at myself every day since it happened". Greg stared at the floor.

_Greg blames himself for me beating him up? _Nick tried to wrap his mind around that idea. He found that the very idea irked him. Like it wasn't hard enough dealing with his own troubles. Now he had to worry about the pain he was causing everybody else? For the second time in two days Nick was learning that he was causing his friends more anguish than he could have known. _Why do they feel the need to tell me this?_ he thought bitterly. _I have my own problems – don't burden me with yours_. He let out a short, half-laugh.

"I'm not angry with you" he lied. He _was_ angry, but not for the reason Greg thought. He was angry that the whole world was crumbling down around him.

"Because if you are, it's okay. We can work through-"

"God! I am not mad at you, okay? What are you, six? Grow up and stop being so stupid!" the words tumbled from Nick's mouth as the frustration of the last few days overcame him.

Greg visibly bristled at Nick's outburst. He straightened himself up and raised his faintly red-rimmed eyes to meet Nick's. "I'm not stupid," he said slowly.

"Then stop acting like it!" barked Nick, getting to his feet.

"I'll stop acting stupid when you stop acting like a jerk!" Greg retorted, not caring that he was raising his voice.

"Oh, so now I'm a jerk. Out to make me the bad guy, are you?"

"Not everything is about you Nick! You think that since the incident our world revolved around you. Well you know what? It doesn't. The world keeps spinning whether you're holding on or not. We have tried to help you Nick, God, how we have tried. But when it became clear that you didn't want or need us, what more could we do? You can't try to disappear while trying to make everything about you. We all have pain to. You are not the only one who's allowed to feel sorry for himself or angry at the world. Every single one of us is just trying to get by."

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden," snapped Nick, though he felt like he'd been slapped.

"Get over yourself! It's not about you! Christ, you're selfish!"

Nick's nostrils flared slightly in anger. "I am NOT selfish. I didn't ask you guys to get me out of that damn box you know!"

"Well if you asked me right now, the answer would be 'No'!" Greg raged.

Something snapped inside Nick. He was moving forward before he knew what was happening. He had Greg pinned against the lockers, breathing very hard. There was no fear in Greg's eyes this time. There was only contempt.

"You gonna hit me again Nick?" asked Greg in a voice that dripped with venom.

Nick gripped the front of Greg's shirt and drew back his fist.

And drove it into the locker, only inches from Greg's head. Greg had turned his head away and closed his eyes against the expected impact. When Nick didn't hit him, he faced his friend once again. His eyes were empty.

"You're not worth it" Nick sneered, not even sure why he was angry anymore. His hand was throbbing.

"That's not you talking," said Greg bitterly. "Where's the Nick I used to know?"

"Still in that damn box" Nick all but growled. "You should have just left me there!"

"I think somehow we did" Greg murmured sadly.

Nick flinched. A year ago he would never have dreamed that he and Greg would have said the things that they had said to one another. Why did everything have to change? Why couldn't the world have left well enough alone?

He let go of Greg. He paced for a minute, and then turned to face Greg, who still hadn't moved. He chose he words carefully for what felt like the first time in ages.

"You were right you know. When you said it could have been a lot worse, what I did to you. You're right. It could have been a lot worse. You could have been kidnapped, buried alive and been seconds away from blowing your brains out. You could have been left with nightmares that won't go away, memories you can't control and anger that you can't explain. It could have been worse. Too bad it wasn't."

Then he sat down on the bench with his back to Greg, until he heard the younger man walk away.

Then Nick cried.

* * *

_To my friends, _

_By the time you read this, it will be too late to stop me. I want you to know that I don't blame any of you for the way things turned out. You guys found me that day, but I haven't been able to find myself since. I can't keep looking for something that doesn't exist anymore. I'm sorry that it all had to turn out this way._

_Sara – thanks for being there for me, and for always looking out for me. I know I never gave you as much information about how I was doing as you wanted, but I always appreciated your concern. You will do great things with your life._

_Catherine – your motherly ways never went unnoticed by me. Thanks for your love and support; it was beautiful. Tell Lindsey I'm sorry, and that I hope one day she'll understand all this. You are an amazing mom and an amazing woman._

_Warrick – let go of the guilt. Don't think for a second that I wish it were you instead of me in that box. Life happens, and sometimes it sucks. I won't ever forget your friendship. Please don't be too hard on yourself because of this – it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. You were the best friend I could have asked for._

_Greg – you've been the source of endless humor for me. Thanks for always making me smile, even when I didn't feel like it. Don't let that final conversation upset you – I understand what you were trying to say. I had my mind made up long before we talked. You are going to be one hell of a CSI._

_Grissom – you've pushed me to do more than I ever thought possible of myself. I can only hope that I lived up to some of your expectations of me. You have been the most brilliant of mentors, and I wish I could have left a legacy other than this behind. I never meant to disappoint you._

_So that's it guys. I hope one day you'll understand that why I did this. I couldn't go on living in someone else's life. I hope you don't hate me, but I would understand if you did. There is nothing any of you could have done to change the way things turned out. I love you all, and I will miss you._

_Nick_

He folded the note and put it in his locker. He would hold on to it until the time was right. If they saw it now, it would ruin everything. He sighed and shut his locker. He was on his way to the elevator when he could hear Greg's voice wafting from Grissom's office.

"How can I make things right when I know that he's wrong?"


	8. Not Long Now

_Author's Note:_ Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up! It's been quite the juggling act lately, what with school work and applying for jobs for September. Word of advice to future teachers: start applications early because they take a LONG time! The opinions of the characters are not necessarily indicative of my own, so please don't feel as if I am passing judgment. I still don't own any of the characters, but you already knew that, didn't you?

* * *

_The scars will take me far, they always do – Henry Rollins_

One Day Earlier

"How can I make things right when I know that he's wrong?"

"Honey, sometimes people just need a day or two to cool off. I'm sure Greg will come around. Just give him some time."

Nick rubbed his head in a vain attempt to make the throbbing headache go away. When his mom had called that morning, he knew there was no point in pretending that everything was okay. She would see through him in a heartbeat. He wouldn't have answered the phone, except he had avoided her all week and he knew that he had to talk to her. He had given her a slightly less than accurate account of the argument that he and Greg had gotten into the previous day. He had made up some lame story about a misunderstanding at a crime scene that had led to a heated discussion. He wouldn't have even mentioned the fight, except she had been able to tell that something was wrong after he said hello. Nick couldn't help but smile at her motherly advice. No matter what, she was always his voice of reason. She always managed to put things in perspective for him, no matter how complicated things were.

"Listen Nicky. I know that things have been really hard on you lately. Maybe you just need a break?"

"Mom…"

"I mean it honey. You know you can always come home for a while. Your dad and I would love to get to see you. I know that you have a job there, but I am sure that you could make arrangements to take a leave of absence for a while. Why don't you come home?" There was a pleading tone in her voice.

Nick unexpectedly felt hot tears burn the corner of his eyes. Listening to his mom talk to him like that made him miss his parents terribly at that moment. He had been out of their house for years and while he missed them frequently, it was never like this. Ever since last spring he found himself wishing that he could be with his family more. He suddenly wanted very much to leave Vegas behind and run home to his parents. He knew though that going home wouldn't change anything. He would still be the same battered, broken person that he was here. It just would have been nice to deal with those issues in the comfort and security of his parent's home.

"Mom come on. You know I can't just get up and leave. I have a job here. They gave me more than enough time off after…you know. They won't be able to give me any more, not right now. I want to come home, I really do. I just have to figure some things out and do some things here right now."

His mom sighed. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I know. I am just feeling a little jealous that your friends our there get to see you everyday. But you'll come home soon, I know it. Listen baby, I have to get ready for work, but you call me this weekend, okay? I want to hear how you and Greg worked everything out. And it will work out, I promise. Just give it some time. I love you Nicky"

He blushed, even though there was no one around to hear him. "I love you too, Mom"

"And think about what I said. You can always come home again, no questions asked. I'll talk to you soon honey. Bye for now"

Nick said his good-bye and hung up the phone. His mother's words swirled around in his head. She made it seem so easy. She made it sound like he could drop everything and just go home again. He hated lying to his mother, but he could never tell her what was going on out here. The stress of the last few days was beginning to pile up on him and he couldn't handle upsetting his mother on top of everything else. He had caused his parents enough grief and stress to last a lifetime. He was determined not to worry them. If he told them what was transpiring here, they would be on the first plane out of Texas. What was even worse was the tiny, nagging worry that they might agree with everyone else. What if they thought that he was going over the edge? He might be able to survive his friends thinking like that, but if his parent's lost faith in him, he would never make it. No, it was better to let them think everything was alright. He'd already made up his mind about what the next step was going to be. And sadly, it didn't involve his parents. He hoped that they would understand.

But deep down, he knew it would break their hearts.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later he was sitting in Dr. Stanley's office again. He wasn't sure how much more of her he could take. She wasn't helping him; she was infuriating him. He felt the muscles in his jaw clench when she smiled at him and opened her folder. He wondered what she wrote in there when he left. Probably a bunch of nasty stuff about how he was belligerent and crazy and dangerous. She didn't really care what happened to him. _She would probably love it if I killed myself _he thought bitterly. _It would prove her theory that I am nothing more than a suicidal loser._ He tried to force a smile on to his face as she greeted him.

"Good morning Nick. I trust the last couple of days have gone well?"

_You know full well that they haven't, you smug cow._ "They've been okay"

"Tell me about them"

_Well let's see. I nearly drowned myself after our last session, so that should indicate the direction our therapy is taking. I came close to trying to knock Greg's teeth out during one of the ugliest arguments I've ever had, and oh, I just lied to my mother._ "Let's see. After our last session I just drove around and went down to Lake Mead to clear my mind. It was actually a pretty, um, cleansing experience. Yesterday Greg and I got into a bit of a disagreement at work, but I didn't try to bash his head in this time, so that's a step in the right direction I guess, huh? And I talked to my mom this morning and she tried to convince me to come home, which is nothing new, and of course I couldn't do even if I wanted to"

"Do you want to leave Las Vegas Nick?"

_If it meant I wouldn't have to see you again, sure, book me the next flight out. _"Not really. I mean, after the last few days I've thought about leaving it all behind, but I don't really want to leave Vegas."

"I see. What did you and Greg fight about yesterday?"

_Does it really matter? _"He thinks I've been avoiding him since I freaked on him"

"Have you?"

_Okay, clearly you can tell I have. You totally know the answer, so why ask the question? _"I wasn't really aware of it until he said something, but yeah, I was avoiding him. I just feel so damn guilty about what happened that it seemed easier if I didn't have to look at him. But we had our words and everything is cool now."

"Is it?"

_Well, if by "cool" I mean that we aren't talking and he is running to Grissom behind my back and everything is a total disaster, then yeah, we're cool. _"I think so. It got kinda heated but we dealt with it and I think it's all good"

She nodded absently as she continued to write in the file. She must have noticed him trying to read what she wrote, because she angled the file away from his line of sight. She smiled that plastic smile. "Nick do you think we're making any progress here?"

_Whoa, abrupt change of direction doc. Where are you going with this? _"Why do you ask?"

"Why do you think I'm asking?"

_Because you're a real pain in the ass? _"Why do you have to make everything so complicated?"

"Why are you answering my question with a question?"

_Oh, for the love of God… _"Listen, this is ridiculous. We are talking in circles here. I will concede on this one. Are we making progress? Frankly, no. I think these sessions are a waste of my time and yours."

"You don't find any validity in our sessions?"

_Considering most of your advice sounds like it came from a cheap self-help book, no, not really. _"I think that there are more productive things we could both be doing. I appreciate everything you're trying to do, but there is no problem here. I know I am supposed to keep seeing you, but could we just ease up on these sessions? Every other day is starting to get ridiculous. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm just dealing with some stuff, which, if I'm being perfectly honest, you don't understand the first thing about. I've got it figured out and I know what I need to do"

"Nick, I appreciate your candor. I hope you will appreciate mine. You are not in any frame of mind to be making judgments about the state of your mind right now. I agree, I don't truly understand what you went through last May, and what you continue to go through. I do however recognize that you are a young man on the verge of a breakdown. There is evidence that you are completely unwilling to acknowledge that indicates the severity of your mindset. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you would know that this last week is one big cry for help. You are spinning out of control, and we need to continue these sessions so that I can make sure that does not happen. I am afraid that if you leave my office today without dealing with any of this, that the next phone call I get from your supervisor will be the one telling me that you killed yourself. You need help Nick. You are lying to your friends, your parents and yourself if you think that you don't. You need to grow up, lose the macho act and admit that there is a problem here. I can help you, if you'll let me. What do you say?"

_What I should have said sooner…_ "Dr. Stanley, I do appreciate your candor. I hope you appreciate mine once again when I say, you are without a doubt, the biggest bitch I have ever met in my life"

And he stormed out, not slowing as she called out his name.

And he knew that the smug, self-righteous phony smile would be wiped off her face the next time Grissom called her.

It would serve her right.

* * *

Nick decided to blow off work for the rest of the day. The paperwork wasn't going anywhere, and he doubted anyone would miss him anyways. He needed the rest of his day to kick the plan into high gear. He was more certain then ever that this was the only way. After spending the morning listening to the psychological tripe that Dr. Stanley was prone to spewing at him, he knew that this was the only way. They all believed it anyways, so it wouldn't be that big of a shock to them he reasoned. He made his last minute arrangements, and marveled at how calm he felt. It was bizarre to feel so in control of everything, when he knew that everything was so far out of control that he could never get it back on track. He had a macabre sense of satisfaction as he mentally prepared himself for what he had to do. He had never thought that he would be so at peace with his decision. After agonizing over it for so many months, he had made up his mind. The only thing he would have changed about this was the nagging voice in the back of his mind that taunted him if he stopped busying himself for too long.

_Coward._

He wondered if he was taking the coward's way out. Had he really done all that he could do in order to make everything right again? He was sure he had. He had tried to be normal again, but normalcy evaded him. He was so tired of pretending. He hoped that no one would think he was a coward. He hoped that they would think of how hard he had struggled for so many months. He hoped they would realize that he was just worn out from trying to deal with all of this.

_Selfish._

Maybe he was selfish, preparing to leave them behind with all of his unfinished business. God knew that they could stand to walk in his shoes for a day or two, maybe this would force them to do it. He had thought about how this would affect them, he really had. He had always been the guy whom everyone could rely on, the guy who put everyone ahead of himself. Now, when it really counted, he was doing what was right for him.

He got home and made dinner. He barely tasted the food, after he realized that this would be his last meal here. If he had thought of that sooner, he might have made something nicer than frozen pizza. _Well, better live it up while I still can_ he thought wryly as he cracked open a bottle of rum and began mixing with cola. It wasn't long before half the bottle was gone and he was sprawled on his living room floor, thinking about what could have been. He was grateful for the numbing comfort of the alcohol. It made all of his memories tonight much happier, and he was glad that the thoughts he had of his friends were all good ones. He dug out his lone photo album (he had left the others at home during Christmas over a two years ago). This album was filled with pictures of his family and friends. He flipped to the pictures of the people who had been his second family for so many years. He rifled through pictures, and ran his hands over the smiling faces. That was how he wanted to remember them. He brought the photo album up to his bedroom, and soon drifted into a heavy slumber with the album at his side. His dreams that night were fragments of a memory, from a time when everything had seemed to be too perfect for words. In his dream, the words he shared with his friends were far from the harsh ones that had been exchanged of late. In his dream state, he wasn't even aware of what he was saying. Somewhere, in the unconscious recesses of his mind, he was saying goodbye.

"I wish I could stay."


	9. Back to the Beginning

Author's Note: Jeez, the pressure is on now! School work, applications AND writing a new chapter! Oh boy! I feel like I ought to clarify something – I am really not a dark, moody person. Writing is very cathartic for me and I use my words to release tension. I would hate to think that you all think that I am some broken soul that only writes the sad stuff! I am really quite peppy and upbeat! Hope you like the new chapter – I may not be able to update until the weekend (consider yourselves warned!)

* * *

_It surrounds you_

_Sometimes it's easy to believe_

_Sometimes it hurts more than it seems_

_Now it's over_

_These are the scars you never show_

_There was a warning sign you know_

_One day you're near and then you go_

_("Fire Sign" by David Berkley)_

The Day Of

"I wish I could stay"

She said it with such insincerity that Nick couldn't help but laugh. He was paying for playing hooky the previous day with a teetering mound of files that threatened to engulf the desk at any moment. Sara had wandered in with a cup of sludge that she claimed was coffee for him. He had looked at her, then back at the pile of work with his best puppy dog eyes. She chewed on her lower lip and tried to let him down gently.

"It's true!" she implored with as much conviction as she could muster. "I still have so much to process from my case last night."

Nick sighed and tried to look put out.

" I could see if Greg is available to help you," she offered, trying in vain to sound casual. He shot her a lethal look. Everyone knew about the fight that he and Greg had gotten into, even if they didn't know the extent of it. It was like being back in high school again, what with the gossip and people choosing sides. He was half expecting people to start slipping notes in his locker. He knew he wasn't helping matters any. Both he and Greg were being just as childish as everyone else by not talking to each other, and making snide comments about one another to fellow co-workers. It was juvenile really, but Nick maintained that he was right in the whole matter. It was Greg who was out of line. _And if he's not going to apologize, neither will I!_ thought Nick snottily. Sara looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and pity.

"Oh come on Nick. This is so stupid. You two are both being ridiculous. Look, do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?"

He stared at her. "Did you steal that from Dr. Phil?" he asked, barely hiding his smile.

She blushed furiously. "I happened to tune in one day, yes, and he makes a good point and…wait, how would YOU know that it was Dr. Phil who said it?"

Now it was Nick's turn to squirm. "I, uh, well its not like I watch really. I mean…I don't have to explain myself to you!" he said, trying to look defiant. They stared at each other and burst out laughing.

"I won't tell if you won't" said Nick.

"Deal," laughed Sara, sticking out her hand so they could shake on it. Nick felt lightness in his chest that he had not felt in so many days. It was refreshing to laugh again. It had been so long since he laughed that he felt slightly out of practice. It was as if he didn't really remember how to do it properly. As their laughter subsided, Sara got a serious look on her face.

"Nick, please think about what I said. I really hate to see you and Greg fighting like this. I just want everything to be good between you two."

"Sara…"

"Nick I mean it. It's not good for either one of you to be so angry at the other" she furrowed her brow slightly. "What did you two fight about anyways?"

Nick became engrossed in the file in front of him. "Nothing much. It's not a big deal. I should get back to work – lots of interesting reading to do you know"

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Nick, is everything okay?"

He looked up at her and tried to smile nonchalantly. "Sure. Why do you ask?"

She glanced at the file in his hand. "Well for one thing, you're reading the annual budget report from nineteen eighty-nine" she offered sweetly. He felt his face go red as he shut the file. She crouched down so that she was eye level with him.

"You would tell me if everything wasn't okay, wouldn't you?" she asked, trying to read his face. "Because you know that I just want to help, right?"

"Of course" he said dryly. "Everyone always just wants to help"

"Please don't push us away" she said, her eyes very sad.

_How can I push you away when you're already gone?_ "I'm not. I just don't really want to talk about it. Look, the stuff between Greg and I, it's just a misunderstanding. We had some words about what happened at the crime scene, and it got a little ugly. It will blow over Sara, I promise. I know you just want to help. But what would really help me right now would be to have everyone just believe me when I say everything's okay"

She straightened up. "It's just hard to believe everything is okay when anyone with eyes can see that it's a lie"

He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. She would have seen the look of guilt that he was sure his face betrayed. She continued talking.

"I won't push you to talk to me Nick. But please know that there is nothing you could ever say that would make any of us think less of you. Please take care of yourself. We want our Nick back. We miss you."

She squeezed his shoulder lightly and hurried away, so that he wouldn't see the shimmer of tears that she could feel grazing her eyelids.

He sat stock still, afraid that if he moved he would crumble to the floor. He wanted so badly to believe what Sara said. He wanted to believe that the team still needed him. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, and have them reassure him that somehow he could emerge from this nightmare. He wanted to go back in time and do something differently so that he could handle this somehow. But he knew there was no going back. He knew that there was no going forward. He was trapped in limbo, in his own personal purgatory. He stood suddenly. He needed to do something, to reassure himself that he was still really here, still really alive. He walked down the hall towards the break room. Maybe another cup of coffee flavored dirt would clear the cobwebs from his brain. As he walked down the shiny hallway, he became acutely aware of the eyes on him. He discreetly glanced from left to right, to make sure he wasn't imagining things. He wasn't. Out of every office someone watched him walk. He could see them studying him, like one of their specimens under the microscope. Occasionally they would whisper to someone else, though he couldn't make out the sounds. The ogled him and watched with perverse anticipation to see if this might be the moment that he finally lost his tenuous grasp on his sanity. It was akin to being trapped in a fishbowl, with eyes on all sides and no chance at escape. Their faces blurred and distorted. Was this what they did during those hours that he was trapped in the box? Did they sit like this and marvel at the spectacle that was his undoing? The lights became too bright, too harsh. He felt like there was a spotlight on him, drawing every eye to him. The walls seemed to morph, moving closer, then further away. The voices of his voyeurs grew louder into a cacophony of noise that ricocheted through his head like a quarter in a can. Were they laughing at him? He couldn't be sure, everything was so loud! Every insecurity, stress and fear that he had been bottling for the last nine months suddenly bubbled to the surface. He couldn't stand here anymore! They would be able to see the scars that he had tried so hard to hide. He wouldn't let them watch as he suffocated again. He felt the heat of tears scorch the corners of his eyes. He couldn't let this happen again! He turned and half-stumbled his way back down the hall, away from the eyes that wouldn't let him walk in peace. They wanted something to talk about? He was about to give it to them.

* * *

Nick flung the bathroom door open and all but threw himself in. Breathing fast, he leaned down to check under the stall doors. He was relieved to find he was alone. He struggled to get air into his lungs. Why did the air feel so thin in here? Every breath was a challenge for his body, which was revolting against him at that moment. He was doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to control his rising panic. Why couldn't he breathe! The room tilted sharply and he nearly fell. He clutched the edge of the nearest sink, leaning so far over that his head touched the moisture that lingered on the edge of the porcelain veneer. He tried to concentrate on the water droplets. Maybe that would center him. He focused on the feeling of dampness on his skin. The drops were cool and clung to the fine lines of his forehead. It helped. He was able to slow his breathing to a near normal rate. He forced himself to draw a breath in, then slowly release it. He loosened his death grip on the sides of the sink. The room seemed to right itself. Still leaning on the sink for support, he lifted his head to look at himself in the mirror. 

_You're pathetic,_ his inner critic taunted him.

He certainly _looked_ pathetic. His hair was disheveled. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired looking. His cheeks were ghostly pale, but the skin around his nose was red, a sure sign that he had been crying. He hadn't noticed before, but his face was looking gaunt. When had his eyes shrunk so far back into his skull like that? When did the bones in his face start to protrude so sharply? He felt like it was a skeleton staring back at him.

_You're such a loser_.

He certainly _felt_ like a loser. He felt as if he had broken some unspoken rule. He had showed the chinks in his armor. He had showed the dreaded emotion, and let them all know that things were maybe not as great as he had said they were. Why couldn't he have just gotten over it? Why did he have to be such an emotional wasteland? They clearly expected him to bounce back from this. What was wrong with him? No one else would still be such a mess.

_You are such a waste of space._

He certainly _knew_ that he was a waste of space. He hadn't been a functional, helpful member of the team for so many months. He was nothing but a cross they had to bear these days. They saw working with him as atonement for sins that they hadn't known they had committed. Why else would they keep him around? They couldn't even count on him not to lose it at a crime scene anymore. He was a liability. He knew it. The team wasn't doing their job anymore because they were too busy worrying about him. He wasn't adding anything to the team. He had been reduced to a body that just occupied space, and did nothing to contribute to the world around him.

_Why don't you just kill yourself? Save someone else the trouble of having to do it later._ The voice was unforgiving. It was a voice that Nick had never heard resonate within him before.

The voice bounced around in his head, taunting him, egging him on. Nick stared at the stranger in the mirror. The pathetic loser who was such a waste of space stared back at him. The last nine months flashed across the mirror like a filmstrip. He felt as if he were standing outside his world, watching it scream by. At that instant, he hated the person in the mirror. He hated everything about their life. He didn't want to live that person's life anymore. He saw the face of the man he once was slam into focus. He saw himself inside the box, screaming to get out. He was outside his life looking in and he didn't like what he saw. The images in the mirror hurt too much, and he couldn't bear to look anymore.

He didn't even hesitate as he turned his fist sideways and drove it into the glass.

He hadn't meant to do it like this. The glass shattered around him, slicing from its frame like deadly drops of rain. He stared at the wall where the glass had once been. The reflection was gone, but the pain remained. He had tried to erase what was on the surface, but he couldn't get rid of what lay underneath. He began to try and wrest any remaining shards from the wall. He ignored the vicious bites of the mirror as he tried to clear away every last vestige of who he was. He wanted this to be over.

He wasn't even aware of doing it. As he grasped a large shard in his left hand, he braced his right against the wall. As he pulled the glass free with a victorious tug, it sliced through the air, finding its way into the delicate flesh of his wrist. He didn't even feel the pain at first. It was the strangest thing. For a long second, nothing happened. Then the blood began to pour from the wound, far too fast. He stared at it in a mixture of fascination and shock. The blood was so dark and thick. It was rushing out faster than Nick could have thought possible. He let his arm drop to his side as he sank to his knees, not feeling the glass go through his pants. Why didn't it hurt? He didn't even notice that the blood was flowing faster now. Shouldn't it hurt? He felt dizzy. Where was he again? He didn't even notice that he had picked up a small fragment of glass in his bloody right hand. He ran the glass over his left wrist without thinking. He only knew that it should hurt. The cut to his left wrist was nowhere near as deep. But the blood began to leak out and drip onto the floor around him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the pieces of the mirror. His last idle thought was that he almost looked like himself again.

Then the world fell away from his as he collapsed on the floor.

And still the blood flowed.

* * *

_He couldn't remember how long he had been lying there. Had it been minutes, or was it hours? For all he knew, it could have been days. He was slowly becoming reacquainted with his surroundings. He could touch the rough, icy linoleum under his palm. He could hear every hum and shudder of the pipes that ran underneath the floor. He could taste the acrid remnants of too-old coffee on his lips. He could smell the traces of watered down Lysol that was intended to cover up the bacteria, not disinfect it. He could see his reflection in the crimson rivers that poured from his wrists._

_He couldn't remember how he got to this point. He tried hard to focus on the events leading up to this moment. The world slowed to a crawl around him as he pondered what it was that had brought him here, wherever the hell "here" was. He didn't remember walking into this room, and he certainly didn't remember how the razor sharp shard of glass had found its way through his flesh. He tried to think a little further back then the events of today. The past few days were too a blur to him. There were fragmented images and thoughts: flashing lights, raised voices, unspeakable sadness and little blue pills. But try as he might, he couldn't link these things together to make a story. It was like to trying to put a puzzle together without having all the pieces first. The last thing that he could clearly remember was being in the box. That damned box stood out in his mind, as it had for every hour, of every day since he'd been in it. It was the one constant in his life. No matter what else happened, the damn box was always there. It was there when he went to sleep. It was there when it woke up. So it was no surprise that it was here now, as he lay in a growing sea of his own blood. This was yet another dramatic event that he could add to an ever growing list. He thought of all the traumatic events he had been through in the last six years. He had stared down the barrel of more than one gun, been stalked, been accused of murder and buried alive. Was it any wonder that it all led to this? How much could one person take? It seems like something out of an H. Rider Haggard story, he thought to himself. The hero faces a myriad of near death experiences and unparalleled peril. The problem was that this was his life, and facing death was not the glamorous event that books made it out to be. And still he found himself here, the fallen hero once again, waiting for someone to rescue him. I would have made a brilliant damsel in distress he thought. He would have laughed if he hadn't wanted to cry. He couldn't save himself. He couldn't be saved from himself. He was a white knight without a horse, and without a mighty sword with which to slay his dragons. It seemed that he had come out of the ground, only to find himself doomed to go back in it. He had gone from one coffin to another. He couldn't get himself out of the first one and he hadn't been able to keep himself out of this one. _

_The red that flowed so freely was rapidly losing its color. It had been so bright, so vibrant a minute ago. Now it had faded to a rusty-gray color. He realized that he was slipping away into the clutches of Death and was not surprised that he didn't fight it. He was surprised to find however, that it didn't hurt. The last time he had faced Death it had hurt a lot. But as he watched his life rush from his body, he felt no pain. He made no effort to cry out or to try and staunch the flow. He had resigned himself to this fate and he was ready. He wondered if they would find the note. It was sitting on the shelf in the locker he had deliberately left open, one last cry for help. Would they understand? Could they understand? He hadn't wanted things to wind up so terribly confused. He had only wanted to escape himself for a little while and instead had wound up like this. His last conscious thought was that they wouldn't blame themselves._

_As the world faded to black around him, he didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear the guttural, primal cry that reverberated off the walls, staining the room with the horror of the situation._

"_NICK!"_


	10. Three Worlds Collide

Author's Note: Aw, how cute are all of you! Your reviews are just so sweet and encouraging. I hope you like this newest installment – I live to make you guys happy! Read, review and enjoy!

* * *

_I've lived in this place and I know all the faces_

_Each one is different but they're always the same_

_They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it_

_They'll never allow me to change_

_But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong_

_I'm movin' on_

_(I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flatts)_

* * *

In the lab

"Nick!"

His mind called out the words, though they never made it past his lips. It was what he should have said, but wasn't quite quick enough to say. He had seen Nick bolt down the hall, the obvious panic etched onto his face. He had hesitated. Why should he go after Nick? Nothing was wrong after all. Wasn't that what Nick kept telling everyone? He had sat at the table, staring at his evidence without seeing it. He had work to do, he tried to remind himself. He was torn between ignoring Nick's obvious pain and rushing to his rescue. He was stuck between having hurt feelings and helpful instincts. He waited for a few long moments before he up his mind. Whether he was angry or not, Nick was his friend. And he clearly needed someone there for him now.

So Greg had gotten up and followed after Nick. He walked slowly down the hall as he tried to formulate what he was going to say. _You haven't known what to say for nine months, what makes you think you are going to know what to say now?_ he thought as he walked slowly down the hall. He wished he were more like Grissom. Grissom always knew what to say in any situation. He had even been able to talk Nick back from the point of hysteria last May. But Greg wasn't Grissom, wasn't anywhere close to being Grissom. He didn't have the perfect words but he might just have adequate ones. He paused outside the door to the rest room that he had seen Nick go into some minutes before. He hoped that he had given Nick enough time to collect himself a little before Greg interfered again. The last thing Greg wanted to do was intrude on Nick's personal turmoil. He hoped that this would be a good time to go in.

He had expected to see Nick pacing, or hunched over, or even sitting on the floor. He had not expected to see Nick sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The remaining pieces of the mirror glittered hideously around him.

"Nick!" cried Greg diving to his friend's side. "Oh God!"

In spite of his shock and terror, the rational part of his brain told him that he need to get help. He leapt up and wrenched the door open.

"Somebody call 911!" he screamed. People stopped moving and stared at him in surprise. "Just do it! NOW!" he yelled, as the door fell shut and he dropped back to Nick's side.

* * *

In his office

Grissom was reading a case report when his phone rang. He laid the report down and picked it up.

"Grissom"

"_Mr. Grissom, it's Dr. Stanley."_

"Hello Doctor. How are you?"

"_I'm fine thank you. I need to ask you – has Nick been into work the past two days?"_

"Well, yes. I mean, he must have been. He was scheduled to work"

"_But you don't know for sure?"_

"Hold on…" He rifled through the papers until he found the previous day's shift report. He scanned through the pages, looking for the familiar signature. It wasn't there.

"No, Doctor Stanley, he wasn't actually in yesterday"

"_But he was scheduled to be?"_

"Yes. Why are you asking me this?"

"_He didn't call to tell anyone that he wasn't planning on coming in?"_

"Not that I know of. What is this all about?"

"_Mr. Grissom, I'll explain everything in moment. But first, has Nick been in today?"_

"Well… I don't know"

"_Can't you find out?"_

"One moment…" He put her on hold and dialed the extension for the reception desk. "It's Grissom. Did Nick Stokes come in today? Oh he did? Thanks, no don't bother paging him. I just needed to know" He reconnected to Dr. Stanley. "Yes, Nick is here to today."

"_He 'is' there, as in, he is still in the building?"_

"No one has told me otherwise. Doctor Stanley, can you please tell me what-"

_"Mr. Grissom, Nick stormed out of our session yesterday. I knew he was not particularly engaged in the therapy, but yesterday he made it quite clear that he had no intentions of returning. I should have called yesterday, but my assumption was he would go to work, if for no other reason than to prove a point to me. I left messages at his house, asking him to call and verify that he was okay. I accept that he does not feel he needs therapy at this time, but I grew concerned because he did not return my calls. Mr. Grissom, when he left here yesterday, I think he was in a very dangerous frame of mind. I am deeply concerned for his well being at the present time. But if you tell me that he is at work today, then for the time being he should be safe. I would like you to talk to him…"_

Her voice faded away as the sound of someone shouting echoed down the hall.

"**Somebody call 911!" **He recognized Greg's voice instantly.

Oh God, no….

"**Just do it! NOW!"**

The phone fell from Grissom's hand as he ran towards what he knew must be awaiting him.

"_Mr. Grissom? Mr. Grissom, what is it? Mr. Grissom…."_

* * *

In the locker room 

God, he was tired. The last week had been a busy one, and Warrick was about ready to call it quits for the day. He ran his hand tiredly over his face. The past seven days had crawled by like a year. He felt as if he had aged so much in so little time. How many days had it been since he had been in Nick's house, threatening to drag him to the therapist? He found that he couldn't remember. It was all so blurry. Had they really not spoken since that day? That couldn't be right. They must have spoken since then. But they hadn't. They had not exchanged words since that ugly outburst that they had had. _The last time we spoke, we were in here_ Warrick mused, looking around the empty locker room. _Why haven't I tried to talk to him since then?_ he wondered. He knew the answer, though he hated to admit it. He hadn't tried to connect with Nick because he was afraid of what he might find out. He had accused Nick of being at risk to slit his risks, or to overdose on his prescription drugs. He wasn't so sure that he had been wrong. But he was too scared that if he sat down and talked to Nick, really talked to him, that he would get confirmation that he was right. And he wasn't so sure that he could handle that. He had seen the look in Nick's eyes this past week. It was a look he had seen only once before and had prayed he would never see again. He thought back to the previous spring, when he had desperately clawed through those last, final handfuls of dirt to see Nick's desolate face beneath the plexiglass, with his gun under his chin. The look in Nick's eyes, the utter despair had torn through Warrick like a knife. He had been able to save Nick once before. _What if I can't do it now? _The worry lingered in his brain, rolling around like a quarter in a can. He didn't know what to do this time. It had been so easy last May. All he'd had to do was tell Nick to put the gun down, and reassure him that he was safe. It was different this time. Now there were so many months of pent-up frustration and anguish that Warrick wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. So he did nothing. And he hated himself every day that he stood by and watched his best friend self-destruct.

He slammed his locker shut and was about to leave, when he noticed that Nick's locker was slightly ajar. _That's weird,_ Warrick thought._ Nick never forgets to lock up his stuff_. Warrick pushed the locker shut, and was about to lock it, when something compelled him to pull it open again. Glancing around, to make sure that he was still alone, he opened Nick's locker. He knew it was wrong to go through Nick's personal stuff, but he had the strangest nagging feeling that he needed to do this. He pushed Nick's coat aside, and noted with a smile the pictures that neatly lined the door. The people in those pictures looked so happy. He was just about to close the door again when his eyes flickered upwards and landed on the piece of paper that lay folded on the shelf, just barely in his line of sight. He knew he shouldn't read it. It was none of his business after all. But he couldn't stop his hands from picking it up. The top of the note read: _To My Friends._ Warrick delicately unfolded the piece of paper. As he started to read, he felt his heart stop.

_To my friends,_

_By the time you read this, it will be too late to stop me. I want you to know that I don't blame any of you for the way things turned out. You guys found me that day, but I haven't been able to find myself since. I can't keep looking for something that doesn't exist anymore. I'm sorry that it all had to turn out this way._

_Sara – thanks for being there for me, and for always looking out for me. I know I never gave you as much information about how I was doing as you wanted, but I always appreciated your concern. You will do great things with your life._

_Catherine – your motherly ways never went unnoticed by me. Thanks for your love and support; it was beautiful. Tell Lindsey I'm sorry, and that I hope one day she'll understand all this. You are an amazing mom and an amazing woman._

_Warrick – let go of the guilt. Don't think for a second that I wish it were you instead of me in that box. Life happens, and sometimes it sucks. I won't ever forget your friendship. Please don't be too hard on yourself because of this – it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. You were the best friend I could have asked for._

_Greg – you've been the source of endless humor for me. Thanks for always making me smile, even when I didn't feel like it. Don't let that final conversation upset you – I understand what you were trying to say. I had my mind made up long before we talked. You are going to be one hell of a CSI._

_Grissom – you've pushed me to do more than I ever thought possible of myself. I can only hope that I lived up to some of your expectations of me. You have been the most brilliant of mentors, and I wish I could have left a legacy other than this behind. I never meant to disappoint you._

_So that's it guys. I hope one day you'll understand that why I did this. I couldn't go on living in someone else's life. I hope you don't hate me, but I would understand if you did. There is nothing any of you could have done to change the way things turned out. I love you all, and I will miss you._

_Nick_

This was wrong. This was all wrong. Warrick forced himself to breathe. It would be okay. He would go find Nick, and tell him that he was there for him. He would make Nick understand that there wasn't anything that he had done yet that couldn't be fixed. It would work out. He was trying to fold them note with trembling fingers when he heard Greg's terrified voice yell down the hallway.

"**Somebody call 911!"**

No, no no. It wasn't what he thought it could be. He stared at the note. This couldn't be happening, not yet. He had found Nick in time once before, so he should have found him in time now.

"**Just do it! NOW!"**

The note fluttered to the floor as he rushed to what he prayed was anything but what the note implied.

* * *

The three worlds collided with Nick in the minutes that followed. He wasn't aware of the chaos around him, as the people he thought didn't care about him struggled to save his life. He didn't feel the intense pressure on his wrists as Greg and Grissom tried to stop the damning flow. He didn't hear the urgent whispers that told him to hang on. He didn't notice the hands, sticky with his blood, that stroke the top of his head gently. He didn't see the salty tears that no one tried to hide.

Then, just as quickly as they had rushed to his side, strong, trained hands that promised to do everything they could for him tore him away from them. The others could just sit and wait, as the air hung thick and heavy with uncertainty. There was no way of knowing what would happen. None of them knew how long he had been lying there. None of them knew how deep the cuts were or how much blood he had lost. They only knew that things had gone terribly wrong. They each sat there, thinking that if he could somehow survive this, how they would each do something better to make sure that things never got this bad again. And yet, as they sat there, comrades in a battle that they could not fight, they still hid their secrets from one another. Greg didn't tell them about the fight he'd had with Nick, and how he had secretly wondered if it was something he had said that had pushed Nick to do this. Warrick didn't tell them about the note, and how he had secretly thought that there was no way that Nick could ever do such a thing. Grissom hadn't told them about the phone call, and how he had secretly thought that he was such a failure for not noticing that Nick was slipping away from them. They sat there, caught up in their own secrets, each thinking that they were somehow to blame for this. As they sat there hoping for the best but expecting the worst, they each silently asked the question that they were too afraid to say out loud.

"Christ Nick, what did you do to yourself?"


	11. Time Heals All Wounds

Author's Note: After the bombardment of reviews/emails telling me to get off my butt and finish this thing, here it is – the last chapter! I have so enjoyed writing this and you are all so kind with your reviews. It ended far differently than I anticipate –this is the second draft of this same chapter. I had very specific intentions, and then decided that maybe this was a better way to end things. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it! If everyone wants to keep his or her fingers crossed that I get a job next year, that would be super fantastic!

PS – all the lyrics are from "In Spite of the World" by the Ataris

XOXO

Lori (fawkes21)

* * *

One Month Later 

_Christ Nick, what did you do to yourself?_

_If I am being completely honest with you (and that is apparently part of the "healing process" that everyone keeps telling me about), I am still angry with you. I am angry with you for not telling me what was going on in your life. You should have told me what was going on. I thought we were friends. No matter how angry you were with me, I thought you would have come to me. I'm angry with you for not telling me what that bitch Dr. Stanley was saying to you. Oh, but you would be happy to know that Ecklie went to bat for you. He got her canned, and her license is under review. I hope to hell they revoke it. If she hadn't gotten in your ear like that maybe you wouldn't have…you know. Anyways, I am angry at your for leaving us like this. Catherine has barely stopped crying and Sara is walking around like a zombie. I am angry with you for hurting us like this. I feel like I can't move on because I can't let go. That's why I'm writing this. The department shrink says that writing you a letter is a really good way of saying all the things that I was never able to say to you in person. But God, no matter how angry I am at you, I wish you were here so that I could say things to your face. This feels so hollow, so empty. How am I ever supposed to move on?_

_You know, much as I'm angry with you, I'm angrier with me. I'm angry that I didn't notice how hard things had been going for you. I wasn't a really good friend, and if I ever got the chance, I know that I would be a better one. Guess it's a little late for that now. I'm angry that I spent so much time caught up in my guilt that it was you, not me in that damn box that I couldn't see how much you were hurting. I put myself before you and I am really sorry about that. Not that it does me much good to apologize now. But I think the thing that I am angriest about is the fact that my last words to you were "Damn you! Feel something! Feel anything!". What I wouldn't give to have said something else, anything else to you since then. Instead that is what I left you with. Hurtful words and a slap to the face. I didn't deserve your friendship. Maybe I got what I deserved – loneliness and regret for all the things I should have said when I had the chance._

_But the shrink tells me to end the letter with something positive, so how about what I learned from this disaster? Ok. I learned that not everything is about me. Sometimes you need to look beyond yourself and see what's going on in the world around you. Maybe if I had known that then you would still be here. I've learned that what's done is done and there's no going back. I can't change how things happened, but I think I will spend every day wondering how it might have ended differently. This isn't very positive is it? I guess I'm just having a hard time finding something good in all this. Alright, let me end it this way then: I'm sorry. I know it doesn't do you a whole lot of good now, and really, its just words on paper, but I mean it. I am sorry for every mean word, for every missed opportunity and for every chance that passed me by. I'm sorry that I'm here and you're not and I'm sorry that I wasn't the person I should have been. You were a better friend to me then I ever deserved and I am so sorry that you're gone. I miss you._

_Warrick_

* * *

**I woke up from this dream to find that I was sleeping  
So I went back to sleep and I dreamed I was awake.  
I locked myself inside but you were on the outside  
I stood outside and watched but I couldn't let you in.**

* * *

_Man, this sucks._

_I hate that I have to write you this crummy letter. I hate that I can't just pick up the phone and call you. Instead, I am supposed to write this stupid thing so I can say all the things that have been haunting me since that day. Apparently, this is supposed to make me "feel better" (the words of the dept. shrink, not me – that's the kind of insight he offers me for a hundred bucks an hour, or whatever the hell it is that he is getting paid). Sorry, this is turning into a rant and I really don't mean it to. I just don't know what I am supposed to say. _

_I guess I can start with how much I miss you. Why'd you have to leave us Nicky? And why'd you have to leave like that? I wish you could have stayed. I don't know – I feel like I have been walking around in this fog since that day and I can't find my way out anymore. I try not to think about that fateful day because it hurts too much and it makes everything too real. You were so important to all of us (even if we didn't show it really well) and now that you're gone, it's like this ugly black cloud has settled over us and our days pass by in this gloomy way. We've been trying to move ahead but then something will happen to remind us about you – like hearing a country song on the radio –and it's like we move back three steps again. We can't seem to let you go, even though everyone else knows that we have to. But I think we all think that if we can hang on just a little tighter, maybe you'll walk through that door again one day. I know its crazy but it gives us the strength to get through another day. _

_The shrink says it will get easier with time. I don't buy it. He didn't know you – how can he presume that we can move so easily? I resent it when he tells me that I need to try and learn to accept the fact that you're gone. Why should I? If I accept that you aren't coming back, then that means I need to accept that the last time we spoke, the words were angry and vicious and things that never should have been said. I won't accept that the last memory you had of me was the person who lashed out at you when you really needed someone to help you. Maybe it's my own selfish need to not be remembered in that light, but I just hate to think that that is how you last saw me. So let me say to you now what I should have said to you then._

_Above anything else, I valued your friendship. Yeah, you gave me a hard time sometimes but when push came to shove, I knew you had my back. You supported me and treated me like an equal, even when I wasn't. I won't forget your kindness and your giving nature. I admired your resilience. You survived things that other people could not even imagine. I don't know how you held on as long as you did. I guess you finally came to the obstacle that you couldn't overcome but God knows you tried. If I had been a better friend, maybe you could have gotten past that too. Now we'll never know._

_Things should never have turned out this way and I know that I am partly to blame for the fact that they did. If I could say anything else to you, it would be that in that instant when I found you in the bathroom, I saw myself for who I really am: a person who was too afraid to be there for a friend when they needed me most. Even in your most vulnerable moment you were teaching me something. I learned from that awful night that I need to find a strength that I'm not sure I have in order to help the people I love. I'm so sorry it came to this, and I promise that I will make sure that I live every day so that I can make you proud. _

_Greg_

* * *

**Maybe you could see inside yourself.  
Wrote a letter to myself, but I couldn't bare to send it.  
So I tore it up and wrote a letter to a friend.  
If only you could know that growing up means letting go**

* * *

_Nick,_

_I should have said this before, and I wish I did not have to say it now, like this. I realize you were hurting for all those months since the night Walter Gordon abducted you. I knew you must have been hurting, I could see it in your eyes so many times. Every time you came into my office I knew you were reaching out to me, hoping that I would hear what you didn't know how to say. And I stayed silent. I hid behind my desk and my books, and behind my malevolent exterior. Please don't ever think that I didn't know how much you must have been suffering. Although I suppose you must not have thought I knew, or I would not have to right this._

_So why then, if I knew how much pain you were in, did I not so something? Why did I sit idly by watching you self-destruct? I suppose it was a case of bystander apathy. I figured that everyone else could see the problem and that someone else would therefore deal with it. I was so obviously wrong in this regard, but I am by no means blaming anyone else for what has transpired. You should know that everyone else here blames themselves in some way, despite repeated reassurances from me that I am the one most at fault. I didn't help you when I knew you needed it. That not only makes me a poor boss, but it makes me a poor person. No one should have had to go through what you did, and I made you feel as if you were alone in the matter. What's worse, I gave you the impression that you disappointed me by feeling the way you did._

_Nicky, you never once disappointed me. I pushed you because I only wanted you to be as good as I knew you were capable of. I wanted you to far surpass anyone's expectations, including my own, but I misguided you into believing that you could never please me. You impressed me every day that you came into work and the person that you were was something that we all ought to aspire to. My greatest regret is not that I didn't help you when I should have, but that I made you feel as if you were never good enough. You never needed to prove yourself to me, but I must have made you feel that way. I wish I could express how deeply sorry I am that I ever made you question yourself._

_I wish things had turned out differently. I am sorry for the role I played in this disaster, and I hope forgiveness will find me somewhere down the road._

_Grissom_

* * *

**Maybe then you'd grow up by yourself.  
I'm growing up again...  
I'm learning to accept that all good things must come to an end.  
I'm growing up again...  
I'm trying to understand what it's like  
To let go of a friend.**

* * *

_To my friends,_

_I was touched to receive your letters; they mean so much to me. It is great to be back in Texas, but I miss my life (or at least parts of it) in Vegas. My parents are wonderful and I am seeing a really good therapist here. I am progressing slowly in my therapy but every day I can feel myself getting stronger and happier._

_I wish I had written you sooner, but these last few weeks have been both painful and hectic. I left for Texas so fast that I know a lot was left unsaid. And considering the circumstances around the time that I left, I know that everyone must be feeling mixed up. I don't remember what I told anyone when I left, so let me try and clear it up for everyone now. _

_I never planned on killing myself. I know that the note implied otherwise, but that's not what I meant. Now, in hindsight, I realize how easily it would have been misinterpreted. What I meant was that I was getting ready to leave Vegas. I had made the decision that I couldn't stay anymore. There were just too many ugly memories. I needed to get away for a while. I chose to run away than to tell any of you what was going on. I had spoken to my parents and scheduled my flight out of town when everything went so wrong. All I ever meant to do was take off, to run away and never look back._

_That being said, I was definitely having thoughts in those last days about ending it all. It's so hard to write that, because I never thought I would get to a point this low. I never consciously wanted to kill myself. What happened in that bathroom was an accident. I hit the mirror, and when the glass shattered, it sliced my wrist. I must have been woozy from the blood loss, because that, combined with the pain of the last few days made me do something incredibly dangerous. I'd like to say it was an unintentional suicide attempt, but I think I may be lying to myself. I really didn't have a conscious awareness of trying to end my life though at that moment. That last week was a jumble of emotions and everything came to a head in a very scary way. Once I woke up in the hospital, I knew that I really had to leave. I know I made the right decision by leaving as abruptly as I did, though I am sorry that I never got to see any of you personally before I left._

_After reading your letters I thought my heart would break. I hate that you guys feel so much guilt over this. The blame cannot be placed on any one person's shoulders – we all have a part in what happened. First, let me say that I don't blame any one of you, nor am I angry. I learned (the hard way) that life is too short to spend being angry about the past. I think there are still a lot of hurt feelings and issues to work through, but I accept all apologies, as I hope you will accept mine._

_Warrick – I understand and appreciate your anger. You and I shared some harsh words but I know that underneath it all you were saying those things because you care. Let go of the guilt – I don't hold any of it against you. I stopped being angry with you and now you need to stop being angry with yourself (and I wouldn't mind if you stopped being angry at me too!). We can repair the damage to our friendship. I'm sorry for turning away from you and for every mean-spirited, hurtful thing that I may have said to you. It'll take more than this to break our friendship apart._

_Greg – I wish I could come back, but right now this is the best thing for everyone. There are a lot of wounds that need healing and I think that some time and space is the best remedy. You talk about my resilience, but I always admired yours! On some of my darkest days I would think to myself "Greg almost got blown up – if he won't lay down and quit, what right do I have to do that?". Your strength got me through so much, even if I never told you. As for our fight that last week, you told me things that no one else was brave enough to tell me. As much as it hurt, I see the truth in what you said and I appreciate your honesty. There is always room for you to come out here and see me – I'll make a cowboy out of you yet!_

_Grissom – Thank you. Your letter meant more to me than words can say. You continue to surprise and amaze me._

_I guess that's about it for now. They say time heals all wounds, so maybe that means one day I will come back to Vegas. I want you to know that even though this was the most painful experience of my life, I will value all I learned during it. No matter how rocky the road of life may get, if you stick to your path, the destination is worth everything._

_Much love,_

_Nick_


End file.
